


To Unravel And Back

by Nightblue_Fruit



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Deviates From Canon, F/M, Mages, Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightblue_Fruit/pseuds/Nightblue_Fruit
Summary: Serana and her bumbling mage have already recovered Auriel's Bow. Now they just have to deal with all the pressures of destiny and maybe address the building tension between the two.Oh, and defeat Harkon, of course.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Serana
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	1. Thread the Needle

Whips of wind lashed at his face and made his eyes flood with tears, smearing his surroundings in black and white. Still, he kept running—in fact, it seemed like Ronan always found himself running, one way or another. It had become a bit of a problem.

Another gust tore through his hair, carrying a chorus of hisses that made his heartrate spike. Ronan decided this was not the time to fight long engrained habits. He pushed himself harder, stiff thighs aching in protest.

He chased after the blurry figure ahead. Red flashed where the person’s cloak flickered in the wind and was his only point of reference. White dominated the landscape.

Suddenly, the person darted around an outcropping. It was probably a ploy to shake off her pursuers; it worked a little too well. Ronan scrambled to follow her, but the turn was too sharp. He lost his footing and fell.

It was not the time to be caught on one of Skyrim’s sheer slopes.

He landed with a grunt and had a split second to be thankful for the cushion of snow before his body caved to momentum and kept rolling. His hands clawed uselessly at the ground for purchase; needles of snow wedged themselves under his fingernails and stung. One, two, three, four rotations later, he finally came to a stop.

Snow burned everywhere it touched skin. It was seeping into his robes, and Ronan felt tired— from the long day, from the running, from everything. He wanted to just lay in the cold for a few moments and watch the flurries swirl through the sky.

But he heard more hisses then, closer this time. Today was not the day to stop moving. Ronan picked himself back up, tripped, and kept going.

Snow clung to his clothes and weighed him down, but he gritted his teeth and forced his arms to pump faster. For a moment, he thought that he had lost her. That he was just lost, period.

Everything looked the same, but then he spotted a slash of red through the white haze and slowly drew level with her.

A quick side-glance, raven hair shifting to reveal orange eyes: “Enjoy your fall?”

“You saw th---is that why you’re dilly-dallying? You need to go faster.”

“Give me the strength,” huffed Serana “and I will do it.”

Nothing but the crunch of snow and the harsh noises of their breathing filled the air.

She spoke first. “We won’t be able to outrun them.”

“I know.”

“Any idea where we are?”

Ronan was quiet for several seconds as his lungs heaved in oxygen. “No, all I see is snowfall. Doesn’t help that it’s dark out.”

“We must be somewhere south of Dawnstar.”

“That’s not particularly helpful.”

“You’re the one who insisted the other night on sleeping in a warm bed.”

“Only one of us can tolerate coffins and crypts!” Although, he knew that wasn’t true.

“You fell asleep at the desk, face first in a book.”

Ronan pretended that he was too tired to reply, which didn’t require much pretending at all. It took more effort to ignore her smirking face.

He jumped as a bolt of lightning sizzled passed him and missed Serana’s boot by inches. They picked up their pace, but their energy was flagging. Ronan peered over his shoulder; he could see them now, dark shapes moving in closer. If he squinted, Ronan swore he could see their burning irises.

He wondered if it was the hunt that gave them so much zeal. Something about a predator and its prey. They had been running for just as long, but the vampires didn’t seem to be tiring.

He eyed Serana. Her body was under enough physical strain for her cheeks to be flushed pink like any mortal’s, but despite her comment earlier, she wasn’t struggling. Her gait was smooth and steady beside him.

With a sinking heart, he remembered that she had seen his tumble through the snow. Ronan thought that he had been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her, but now he realized that she had slowed down. For him. He was holding her back.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he was really the best person suited for this job. To prevent a prophecy that not only called for the end of the sun, but also her death. Auriel’s bow weighed heavily where it jostled along his back. Ronan was just human.

He parted his lips, an argument to leave him behind poised on his tongue –and it was a sound argument, but it would inevitably fail to convince her of anything— when an orange light shone through the snowfall. Fire. Ronan squinted and made out a tall figure silhouetted against the light. It was leaning against a club.

Suddenly, he knew where they were. More importantly, he had an idea.

“Follow me.”

Serana didn’t question him as he directed them through an open field. More bolts of lightning sizzled on the backs of their heels. They ran through a brink of trees and Ronan saw the outline of a small house in the distance, with a larger unfinished frame attached, looking like a set of wooden ribs.

Ronan sprinted for the door and ushered Serana inside, slamming it after her so hard that the door rattled in its frame. Turning the lock, he leaned against the wood and wheezed. His hands trembled. Ronan squeezed them into fists, but it had no effect.

“That’s the only way out. Why are we here?”

Serana’s voice had him straightening and looking around. The entire house was just a size bigger than one of the rooms you’d rent at a tavern, and everything was covered in a fine layer of dust. There was a set of barrels that he ignored and a small wooden chest that he stumbled to and cracked open.

Ronan coughed as a cloud of dust erupted. Sifting through the materials, he let out a relieved sigh; they were still here.

“Ronan?”

There were scratches at the door and pounding. It wouldn’t take them long to force their way in. He started grabbing handfuls of nails from the chest, picking up as many as he could hold.

He handed Serana a stack. She grabbed him as he went to move away. Their eyes locked; orange on blue.

“Just trust me,” he said. “Spread these out on the ground.”

Serana didn’t say anything, but she let him go. They quickly sprinkled the nails all over the floor, the pieces of metal striking the ground with a series of light _chings_. The wooden door was making a cracking noise when he hurried them to the other side of the room.

“Get ready.”

There was the sound of scraping metal as Serana drew her dagger. Ronan focused on the entryway and readied his hands.

“Hope this works,” he mumbled. He felt Serana’s eyes bore into his head and winced.

Before she could say anything, the wood surrounding the lock splintered and with a wave of triumphant hisses, the door flung open. Four vampires stepped into the room, gazes scorching. Ronan closed his eyes and visualized the space in his head.

He heard the crackle of frost in Serana’s hand and the vampires unsheathing their weapons. You could tell that their hunters tasted victory. You could hear it in their slow and almost lazy footsteps. Ronan reached for the power inside him and pushed his palms up and out.

Nothing happened, but he sensed the nails ever so slightly quiver on the ground.

The vampires didn’t notice. “Silly mortal. You trapped yourselves,” one chuckled. They started kicking the nails away.

Focus, focus. Tiny nails laying on the ground, round and sharp. Tiny nails slowly balancing on their heads.

Ronan opened his eyes. His hands shook, as did the nails, stronger now. It was like a tremor was going through the floorboards. The vampires stopped and hissed in confusion, but the spell caster among them was smart. Ronan heard it before he saw it— the sharp hum.

Time slowed. He imagined what his weak, human eyesight couldn’t trace. In the space of a second, a jagged white line zipped through the air towards him. Ronan tasted failure on the wind. They would be cornered and outnumbered.

His eyes squeezed shut.

There was a gasp and a thud.

Neither came from him. A chill swept down his spine, and he looked around. Serana was sprawled on the ground, clutching her chest. His gaze travelled up and took in the sneers that twisted and burrowed the lines of their faces.

His wrists snapped forward.

All the nails flew up and pierced their attackers. The force sent the vampires to the ground as they writhed and screamed. He squeezed his hands tighter and felt the nails dig in deeper, their screams come out louder.

The pieces of iron embedded in their skin had to be agonizing, but it was not a quick death. It would take time for them to bleed out.

Ronan felt a dull throb starting up in his temples and getting stronger. He had expended a lot of energy with that spell.

Nonetheless, he leaned over, swept up Serana’s dagger, and slit each of their throats. The last one was the mage, who clamped his glowing fingers on his arm and started to leech his health. He shoved the blade through his throat until the vampire’s hand fell away.

Ronan dropped the dagger with a clang. “Never done that before,” he breathed.

“I think you might have some kinks to work out.”

He quickly went to Serana. “Is it bad?” Sarcasm was an encouraging sign.

She grimaced and didn’t move her hand. “It doesn’t feel great. But it’s nothing serious.”

Ronan nodded and cast his gaze around the room again. His eyes fell on the bodies, and he watched as the spots of crimson that peppered their flesh grew bigger and bigger until they bled into each other. Blood began to trickle down their sides and form pools beneath them.

He touched her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Ronan dragged the corpses outside and laid them out carefully in the snow, side by side. The wind had since died down, and snowflakes, like a shower of white feathers, fluttered lazily to the ground. It was almost peaceful, if not for the bright spots of blood that stained the scene.

Ronan wondered if he should do more. Many would think that just because they were vampires, they didn’t deserve anything else after they died. He didn’t agree. He wondered if there any sort of tradition or rite to be observed, if he should go ask Serana, but then he remembered her face, tight with pain.

Ronan closed each of their eyes, extinguishing the last of their fire, and put it out of his mind.

He walked a little ways off. Ripping a piece of cloth from a roll in his travelling pack, he crouched down and began to pack it with snow. It took no time at all. The cold sunk into his bones, but Ronan lingered there anyway and studied his hands.

They were young hands, no scarring and smooth to the touch. He had a single callous on one finger, made from the way he held his quill while taking notes. Yet his hands had turned an innocent piece of magic into a gruesome scene. Magic seemed wonderful to Ronan, running bright and alive through his veins, and a natural extension of himself. He sometimes forgot how easily it could be twisted.

It bothered him that nothing in his hands marked him as a killer. He didn't feel like one, but he thought people deserved to know. No, rather his hands made him feel like a child, still trying to figure out the ways of the world. Ronan had no reason to, but he kneeled there in the cold for a little longer and just watched the snow drift.

* * *

Serana had removed her cloak and was inspecting her wound when he returned. A red, angry burn bloomed beneath her collarbone, looking painful. He handed her the bag of snow, which she pressed gratefully to the burn with a hiss, but her shoulders gradually relaxed. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Ronan felt frozen. His clothes were still wet, and his hands were bright red from the cold. A fire would be the easiest solution.

He busied himself with breaking down the barrels in the room. Smoke might prove to be a problem, but he thought that he could at least get his robes dried off. The busted door would certainly help air things out.

It was quiet, aside from the cracking timber, until Serana twirled her hand. “How’d you know about this place?”

Ronan paused. It lasted only a second, maybe less.

“This was going to be my house once.” He gathered up the pieces of wood. “I know the area. We’re not that far from Whiterun. We can head there tomorrow and take a carriage.”

Serana’s eyes shot open and she sat up. “Hold on, you were going to live here? What happened?”

Ronan shrugged as he arranged the wood. “I had big plans for the house. I wanted an entire room dedicated to a library, with shelf upon shelf lined with books.”

“I should’ve guessed. You’re always carrying at least one.”

“—An enchanting table in another room. A forge on the ground floor. But then other things came up,” Ronan threw a flame into the pile and it caught, “So I left and never came back. Until now.”

Serana looked down. She didn’t say anything, just readjusted the pack on her burn. 

Ronan reminded himself how open Serana had been with him, how _vulnerable_ , and how some of it hadn’t been by choice. Old family wounds had been continuously drudged up and reopened again.

“You—” he hesitated, and her gaze whipped back to him.

He pressed on. “Remember when I told you how I never knew my parents? That I was alone?”

“I remember.” Soft.

“Right,” Ronan stared into the fire. “Well, in High Rock, I was found abandoned on a ship in one of the villages lining the coast. I ended up growing up in an orphanage. I guess with this place that I…just wanted to make a home, to have a permanent one.” He cleared his throat, scratched at his knee. “It was harder than I thought.”

His cheeks burned up at the admission. It was silent aside from the crackling fire. Ronan fidgeted with his sleeves and glanced at the door. The weather wasn’t too awful…

He almost jumped when a cold, pale hand settled over his. Serana smiled.

“Maybe you can come back and finish it someday,” she suggested, then wrinkled her nose. “Might want to redo the flooring in here though.”

His laugh sounded like grinded shards of glass. “Maybe.”

Serana squeezed his hand once and withdrew.

Ronan needed a distraction. First, he removed the outer layer of his robes and laid them out on the floor to dry. Then he dug through his pack for a book.

The cover was a deep green, and cracking the binding open, his fingers traced the foreign swirls and slants. The author’s script seemed to communicate misery. Their lines were heavy and dark, like the writer had pressed a great deal of force into the paper.

“Back at it again?”

Ronan blinked, coming back to the room and the fire. Serana had thrown aside the damp cloth and was looking at him with interest. “Yes, but I can’t make much of it.” He scooted closer and leaned over to show her the page. Serana’s cool breath blew against his neck. Ronan hid a shiver.

This,” he pointed to a scrawl of ink, and Serana hummed accordingly, “I think means ‘light,’ and then this,” it was another series of scratches on the same line, “I believe is ‘black,’ or maybe ‘darkness?’ I’m not sure. The whole thing appears to be in the format of a poem. Or maybe a song?”

He shook his head. “This book could contain useful insights into the snow elves and their culture before they became the falmer. Are these stanzas set into a similar meter as the Summersetian sonnet? Does it contain a meter at all? It could be that some of the literary traditions found among the Nords were influenced by their works. There’s so much to consider.”

Serana had been oddly silent. He looked up and found that she was close, closer than perhaps they’d ever been before. The firelight bathed her in flickers of orange and shadow, and her irises were especially intense. Ronan had to clear his throat to speak. “Am I boring you?”

A hint of a smile danced on her lips. “Not in the slightest.”

She turned her face away, and it was like the lifting of a brand. He could breathe. Was that another vampiric power?

“Light and darkness, that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it?”

Ronan’s body tensed up so quickly, he might have pulled a muscle.

Serana’s raven hair spilled over and hid her face. “We’re going to kill my father. That’s our next move.”

It was not a question. Ronan was quiet while he searched for the right words, any of them. He scratched the back of his head, swallowed. “Yes,” he admitted. “Could you do that?”

She didn’t look at him. “I'll do what’s needed.”

“You don’t have to.” It was important that she knew that.

Serana levelled her gaze at him. “You’ve been with me through all this. I’m not leaving your side.” 

The intensity behind her eyes made his heart pump double time. He looked away, retreated to her earlier comment. “It’s not just about light and darkness.”

Serana scoffed, but he spoke louder. “It’s not. It’s more like…” Ronan floundered. Debates over the theoretical applications of magic were more his specialty. “Have you ever heard of the Parable of the Sweet Roll and the Cabbage?”

“I have not. Are we telling each other bedtime stories now?”

He ignored her. “It begins with two towns that had a small, ongoing rivalry. Both ate a lot of cabbage in their diets –a green, healthy plant that grew easily in the region but had almost no taste at all. Yet one day, one of the towns figured out how to bake sweet rolls, and they began to eat this almost exclusively.”

“…I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

Ronan pressed on, “the town with the sweet rolls always wafted with this amazing aroma. The other town smelled their baking with envy, while picking their cabbages from the dirt-filled ground. There was no way to spice up the plant. It just tasted like the earth. Their cabbage was sad and so were the people who ate it.”

“It sounds like you’re projecting your displeasure with traveling rations. You _could_ spend more coin on food.” He glared; Serana leaned back against the wall.

“— _Anyway_ , the sweet roll town started to mock the others for their cabbage. In response, even though they despised the vegetable, they ignored their other crops and ate more and more cabbage and falsely praised it. At this point, the town with the sweet rolls had to bake morning, noon, and night just so they could keep up with the demand. Soon these two towns began to stuff themselves with their respective food and nothing else. Two weeks later, they were all dead.”

There was a pause. “And?”

Ronan hid a smile and went back to studying the falmer script. “And that’s the story.”

“What’s the point of that?”

He flipped a page. “You’re supposed to work it out yourself.” 

“There’s not much to consider. Is this even a real parable? Or did you just make it up?”

Ronan snapped the book close. “It is _very_ real.” Serana smiled at his outburst, and he scowled. “The author is well-known, and I think the story is worth thinking about.”

Serana crossed her arms. “Do you even understand it?”

“I’m not giving away answers. Besides, that would only be my interpretation.”

Serana didn’t reply for a few moments, and when Ronan spared her a glance, she was staring into a corner of the room. Maybe she was considering it. He tentatively reopened the book, but he kept peeking over at her and absorbing nothing from the text.

That happened a lot. Ronan would be more frustrated with himself if it weren’t for her allure as a vampire. Their looks were meant to draw in prey, and he was not immune. Serana captured his attention even when her brow was furrowed, and she glared at the wall like she might start hissing. 

Like she was now.

Her expression cleared, and he hurriedly looked down at the page.

“I think I’ve got it.” 

Ronan closed the book and straightened up. Serana was smirking, so he figured he'd been caught staring earlier. Heat rose to his cheeks, but he didn’t look away; Serana knew she was beautiful. There was no point in getting worked up about it. Besides, seeing him squirm gave her too much glee.

He cleared his throat, “Do tell.”

“There is no point.”

“Tha—”

“Hold on. The story is meant to divert you. It sounds like utter nonsense because it _is_ utter nonsense told in a way that makes you think there’s supposed to be a nugget of wisdom at the end.”

Her orange eyes were so bright and excited with her discovery, that all protests died in his throat. He nodded, and her red lips stretched into a blinding smile. Ronan blinked a few times and almost jumped when she touched his hand.

“Thanks for taking my mind off things,” she said. Her smile was smaller now, less arresting, but it radiated an equal amount of warmth.

Ronan had swallowed all his words, maybe even his tongue, but he gave her a shaky smile back.

It was enough. She scooted back to her side of the fire and stared into the dancing flames. Serana had such a range and depth with her experience of joy. It gave him whiplash sometimes how quickly she could turn from mocking, to gentle teasing, to delight, and to something softer.

The fire had died down a little; Ronan fed it a piece of wood. Serana was still smiling now, but something about it seemed sad.

Ronan guessed that not only did the parable fail in communicating any sort of idea, but it had also failed to be distracting.

“Let’s take a trip.”

Both their eyes widened. Ronan might have been the one who spoke, but he was just as startled.

Serana recovered faster and raised as eyebrow. “What are we doing right now?”

“This doesn’t count.”

Serana waited for him to go on. Ronan didn’t know how to explain his impulsiveness. His gaze flitted around on the room and settled on the book in his lap.

“We could visit Winterhold?” he tried. “See the college and give this book to someone who can get it translated. There isn’t much else to the town, but it might be nice.”

It might be nice. He wanted to slam his head against something.

“We can’t forget about my fath—”

“Harkon needs the bow and you. Without them, the prophecy can’t happen.”

Ronan was quickly warming up to the idea. Serana had been chased and hunted and forced to confront old family wounds ever since she left that crypt. She deserved a break.

Serana stared into the flames and said nothing. She was probably going to refuse. He wouldn’t blame her. She was far braver than him.

“Okay.”

Ronan almost didn’t hear her. “We’re going to Winterhold?”

“Let’s go.”


	2. Skipped a Strand, Start Again

Serana flipped over her black hood. “So are we going to talk about it?”

The afternoon sun was at its highest point and the carriage provided no protection from its rays as it jostled along the dirt path. Ronan glanced over at her, saw her scowl at the sky but say nothing. He fiddled with his ring. It was silver with a deep blue stone.

“I didn’t realize we needed to talk.”

Her gaze swung over to him. She waited, but he studiously watched as Whiterun faded farther and farther into the distance. He could just make out the ramparts.

There was a sigh. “Okay, I’ll start. That was an oddly tense conversation with someone who’s supposed to be your housecarl.”

“Not odd for us,” Ronan mumbled before he remembered Serana’s hearing was better than most. She raised an eyebrow at him. He stopped twisting his ring.

“I did not make a good impression on Lydia when we first met.”

“I see.”

Ronan’s head snapped up. “Pardon me?”

Serana waved a hand. “Well, I didn’t find you charming our first encounter either.”

“You were surrounded by vampires and emerged from a stone coffin.”

“And you’d think you’d let me get my bearings before interrogating me. I had more reason to question you really, since you had just killed those vampires and their corpses were right there.”

“It wasn’t lik—!”

Serana continued. “But then once you realized I wasn’t going to attack you, you were kind. Concerned. Took me out of that cavern, helped me back home, and listened when I told you that I didn’t want to talk about something.” She smiled over at him. “So you’re not terribly off-putting a second time around.”

His indignation melted away. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, before he tentatively ventured forward. “But you could work on your first impression some more if you ask me.”

They had a stare down. A gust of wind blew Serana’s hood off her face, but she did nothing to stop it. “Is that teasing I hear?” A delighted smirk grew on those red lips.

Dammit, Ronan could feel himself blushing. “Yes?” Her smirk deepened. Oh, he was in over his head. “If you can’t hear it, I can write it down for you? Only if it would help, of course.”

Oh, Divines, where was this courage coming from?

Serana laughed. It was rung clear and bright like bells and even the carriage driver looked over his shoulder at them with a smile. “Alright, back there?”

Ronan didn’t even realize he had spoken. His whole body had frozen and he was completely absorbed in her. Serana was still smiling as she called out, “Everything’s good, thanks.”

Serana settled back down. She kept her hood off, even though the sunlight had to be bothering her. It was nice though to see her face clearly in the light of day. Ronan shook himself out of his daze and looked over the edge of the wagon. They weren’t even moving that quickly. Jumping would hardly hurt.

Serana’s voice drew his eyes away. “As much as I like you branching out and trying comedy, using humor to deflect is more of my thing. So what happened with Lydia?”

Ronan guessed there was no more point in hiding. “I think she had an idea of who she was going to serve as housecarl before we met. Lydia pictured a strong warrior like herself, always hunting down adventures, and with a bravery that paralleled nobody else. Then she met me,” Serana scowled, “in my mages robes with my collection of books. I could tell she was disappointed, but she was polite either way.”

“And then?”

“Well, I think she wanted to give me a chance. We struck up a conversation and she was asking about my interests, and I could just tell her spirits were falling as I went on and on about my recent studies and my time spent at the college. So I mentioned that I also did smithing."

Serana’s eyebrows rose. “You lied?”

“No, I actually do go to the forge when I can. And Lydia instantly latched on to that, because who hasn’t heard of Eorlund Grey-Mane and his legendary steel in Whiterun? So she asked me all these questions about the weapons I forged, or if I specialized in a certain armor. She was also very interested in maybe going after some rare smithing materials together.”

“None of that sounds bad.”

Ronan scratched his head. “Right, well, after she said all of that I had to come out and say that I really only forge jewelry…”

Serana snorted.

“And that pretty much cemented her opinion of me as a milk-drinker. That’s why things are strained between us. I offered to free her from my service so she could find someone else, but I think that only offended her.”

“You should have her come along with you sometime.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“No, really,” Serana leaned forward, “Because you might be more interested in reading than collecting scars, but you’re not weak. Besides, Nords need to get over their recent aversion to magic. Shalidor was a great Nord mage.”

“We are one mind on that,” Ronan grumbled, thinking of all the guards who had told him to watch his magic. He continued in a more serious tone, “I will think about it. But it won’t be happening anytime soon, alright?”

Serana smiled. “Of course not, you have me.”

 _Still_ was something left unsaid.

Ronan felt his shoulders drop. He hadn’t really thought of a time where Serana wouldn’t be travelling with him anymore, and it stung to be reminded now. He supposed that she couldn’t adventure with him forever, but he had grown used to her company. The road was less empty with her around.

But after this was all over, Serana could finally stop and enjoy her life. No one would be trying to manipulate her, kill her, or enact a prophecy. She could do whatever she wanted. But where would she go? The Dawnguard would surely want to wipe out the entire inhabitants of the castle, not that the vampires there weren’t pursuing her death anyway. Maybe her mother…?

A knot twisted in his stomach. Serana noticed his change in mood. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Still a little tired from yesterday. Do you mind if I catch some sleep?”

Her orange eyes darkened in concern. “No, go ahead. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

Ronan murmured his thanks as he reclined against the wagon and pulled his robes closer to him. He wasn’t especially tired, but the continuous sound of the horse’s hooves and the creak of the wagon drew him to sleep.

* * *

_A black dragon circled above as smoke everywhere drove in heaves toward the sky. It looked like a smear of ink on grey paper. There was a roar that reverberated across the landscape… A town in charred ruins…_

“Ronan, Ronan, wake up.”

His eyes snapped open to find a pair of orange ones a few inches in front of him. Serana had grabbed his shoulders, and he felt her cold hands through his robes. “I’m awake,” he mumbled and tried to clear the fog in his mind as he sat up.

It was later in the evening and the sun had started to set. Serana backed away to the other side of the wagon. He rubbed his face. “What happened?”

“You were talking in your sleep.”

Ronan remembered smoke and more smoke but not much else. “What did I say?”

Serana looked away “I couldn’t make anything out.”

Ronan hummed. “How close are we to Winterhold?”

“The carriage driver –his name is Theren by the way— says we can’t see it from here, but Lake Yorgrim will soon be to our far right.” 

Ronan nodded. Around them, they had traded in flat plains for mountainous views, the tiny peaks topped with snow. They had a little over halfway left. “How’s your wound doing?”

Serana rolled her eyes. “We visited the apothecary as soon as we reached Whiterun. It’s completely healed.” She lifted up her cloak. “See?”

The white, marble skin was completely unmarred. Ronan touched it with his fingertips ever so slightly to reassure himself. It always fascinated him how naturally cold she was due to her nature, but that if he lingered in one place long enough, he could feel the skin beneath his begin to warm. He traced a part of her collarbone and up towards her neck. Serana drew in a sharp breath. He looked up.

With the sun bathing the sky in shades of orange and pink behind her, her gaze positively seared. Ronan dropped his hand and moved away. The air was heavy. Serana kept her eyes on him and there was a weight to her stare, pinning him in place. The cords of her neck tensed.

“There’s some other people on the road coming our way,” said Theren. “Probably nothing, this road is usually pretty safe even at this time of day, but just so you know.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Serana broke her gaze and Ronan shakily exhaled, feeling like a deer that had just evaded its predator and oddly disappointed by it. The two of them looked out ahead.

It was a group of people approaching them, maybe five or so, and one person was leading a brown horse on foot. It became clear as the carriage and the party moved closer that it was a band of soldiers —Stormcloaks by their armor and colors.

Ronan wasn’t too concerned. As long as they weren’t Imperials, the Stormcloaks were unlikely to do anything.

When they were only a few feet away, one soldier yelled out, “Halt!”

Theren flicked the reins and their carriage came to a gentle bouncing stop. “Is there a problem, boys?”

A man with a bushy ginger beard stepped forward. Ronan knew enough about the Stormcloaks to know he was the commander of the party, marked by the bear skin he wore. “I’m Aengelf Oaken-Shield, and these are my soldiers. Where are you all heading?” 

“Winterhold, sir.” Theren said.

Aengelf walked closer to the carriage, to study Ronan and Serana. “For what purpose?”

“We wish to visit the mages college,” explained Ronan. “I'm a previous student.” 

Aengelf took in his robes and nodded. Then he angled his head toward Serana.

She had pulled her hood back on when the carriage stopped. Neither her or Ronan wanted to alert the soldiers that she was a vampire. Most people didn’t look twice at Serana, but it became much more apparent as night approached, when her eyes glowed, that she wasn’t quite human.

“And what about you?”

Serana avoided her eyes. “Not a student. Just tagging along.” Aengelf scrutinized her for a few more moments and nodded before walking back to the front of the carriage.

“Well, we’re sorry to impose on you, but I will be blunt.” He gestured to his soldiers. “We’ve come all the way from Fort Snowhawk and are on our way to Kostov. The journey has been hard. We’ve ran out of supplies. Our other horses have died.” 

As he spoke, Ronan observed the rest of the company. There were four other men and one women present. Their boots were scuffed and caked in mud. It was harder to tell if the person had a beard, but their faces were haggard. Pale. Like they hadn’t slept or eaten enough in the past few days. The horse’s ribs were apparent through his coat. Ronan tuned back in. 

“…so that is why you have my sincerest apologies, but we need you to step off the carriage and take your things with you.”

Theren made a strangled noise in his throat. Aengelf opened his hands. “Do not fear. We aren’t going to harm you.” 

Serana raised an eyebrow at him. Ronan shook his head and carefully jumped down. It would be faster and smarter to just endure the process and be done. Soon, Theren, Serana, and him were all standing together on the ground.

Aengelf walked up to the carriage horse and patted its neck. “We won’t take the wagon, but we will exchange horses.” At his word, one of his men led the thinner mount forward. Another worked to take off the saddles and tack.

Theren watched the proceedings with a despondent look. “That’s my horse.”

“He will be looked after carefully, I promise you.” said Aengelf, not without compassion. The horses were switched out without another word. “Now please hand us your travelling packs.” To Theren, he said, “My men will check your saddlebag.”

As their bags were rounded up, Aengelf stood by his soldiers. “Alright, go and look through their things. Leave them enough food for another meal. Anything else you want, you take it because you need it, understood?” There was a chorus of agreeable shouts. 

Ronan watched as the contents of his pack were dumped. Serana didn’t have anything in there, aside for a mortar and pestle, but none of the soldiers were likely to be interested in that. He was glad that he had packed an excess of food. It would look more suspicious if he’d only packed enough for one.

The soldiers took two canteens of water, a single bottle of ale Theren had, five apples, four slices of cheese, two full loaves of bread, almost all the salted meats they had, half of their grains, a spare shirt, and the extra blanket Ronan had brought.

They didn’t touch his book, which he was thankful for. None of the soldiers were too rough with their things and were careful to pack everything back up when they were done.

All in all, it was a rather civilized process. 

“Right,” said Aengelf. Behind him, one of the soldiers was already dividing up the food. “I must ask one more thing of your generosity— some gold. We don’t have any on us and we’ll need it once we reach Kostov.”

“How much?” asked Theren. He was still sullen about the horse but mostly resigned.

“30 gold pieces.”

“That’s more than half of what I’m making with this trip! I can’t afford that, especially now that you’ve taken my horse.”

“It’s alright, Theren,” said Ronan as he found his coin purse. “We’ll pay it.” He held out the coins. Aengelf nodded at one of his men, who stepped forward to take it.

The man was a few inches taller than him with dark hair and a jagged scar on his jaw. He met Ronan’s eyes as he took the coins and quickly looked away.

“Great, that’s all done. We’re sorry to have disturbed you---“

“Wait, Oaken-Shield.” said the man with the scar.

“Harjolf?”

“I need a new bow.” He peered over at Ronan. “Surely I can take his? My axe is barely sharp enough right now to cut bread.”

Serana stiffened beside him. He was talking about Auriel’s Bow. Ronan shook his head. “The bow is ours. You can have our food, our gold, and the other things you’ve taken, but not that.”

Harjolf sighed. “You don’t even look like you can string an arrow. Why do you need it?”

“That doesn’t matter. It belongs to us.”

The Nord stepped closer. “Don’t be unreasonable—”

“The bow isn’t for grabs,” said Serana and brandished the dagger from her belt.

All the soldiers apart from Aengelf drew their axe or sword.

The commander raised his arms. “Hey, let’s settle down. Men, lower your weapons.” They hesitated.

“Now. That means you too, Brinnid.” The woman named Brinnid scowled and was the last of them to lower her blade. Serana tentatively followed suit.

Aengelf approached Serana. “Listen, we don’t want to start anything. We’re soldiers, not bandits. I’m sure we can settle this peacefully.”

He inched closer, slanting his head down to look into her face. “Can—” Aengelf cut himself off and jumped back.

“By Ysmir, your eyes!”

The air went still. Ronan’s heartrate spiked as he stepped in front of Serana. “Just leave us be and we’ll go our separate ways.” he pleaded.

Aengelf ignored him. He pointed at Serana. “I know those eyes.” He spat on the ground. “We’ve ran into your kind before. They’re everywhere these days. You’re a vampire.” Next to him, Theren gasped.

The commander looked at Ronan. “Do you know what company you’ve been keeping? She’ll kill you.”

“I know who she is. And she’s no threat to you. Please, leave.”

Aengelf was already shaking his head. “You don’t have your wits about you. Grab her.” he said.

The soldiers jumped to it. Next thing Ronan knew, Serana had darted around him and was going for the commander. Aengelf knocked the blade from her hand and struck her. She fell to the ground with a cry. Ronan lunged for him, but he was held back by two of his men.

Serana was pulled to her feet and restrained by the soldiers. Brinnid twisted her arm until she snarled and her fangs sprung out. Ronan struggled against the arms holding him, but it was useless. The men bounded her hands together behind her back. 

Harjolf muttered into his ear. “Guess I will be taking that bow.”

“No!” Ronan thrashed in their arms. “Aengelf, you coward! Is that what your lot of soldiers are? A bunch of stealing, murdering, bandits!”

Aengelf turned around. “Are you trying to make this worse?”

Think, think, think.

Ronan closed his eyes and thought of the sun, of flames, and of smoke. So much smoke. He frowned and shook his head. He thought of the sun, how you can feel its rays on your back. He thought of the heat a fire gives off. He felt it now, traveling through his palms and up.

Harjolf and the other man holding him yelped and pulled away. They cursed and held out their hands. Ronan felt the heat still coiling in his palms.

Aengelf drew his axe. “Don’t be foolish. There’s too many of us.”

Ronan didn’t even think he could take them all, but he didn’t want to harm them. These weren’t evil people; they were just exhausted and hungry.

Dread suffused him as a plan took shape in his mind. He still had something up his sleeve. It always did come easier when he was in a high emotional state like this.

His throat began to itch. Ronan cleared his throat and coughed. He looked at Serana for a long moment, who’s brow furrowed at him, and then turned back to the commander.

“Brace yourselves.” he said, talking to Serana.

Ronan breathed in, felt the word sitting on the back of his throat, and roared, “ _FUS!”_

A blast of force staggered the soldiers, even landing a few on their backs. Serana stumbled from where she stood, recovered, and sprinted away like Ronan hoped. As a creature of the night, she’d melt easily into the quickly approaching darkness. In seconds, she was gone.

Ronan doubled over and wheezed as his lungs fought to get more air. It always did a number on him when he did that. When he risked a glance up, most of the soldiers seemed in shock. So was poor Theren, who stared at him with a slack jaw.

Aengelf stood back up with wide eyes. “Do you know what you just did? What this means?”

Ronan straightened and shifted in place. “Yes.” Curt.

Harjolf stepped forward. “Who cares? He attacked us!”

“I gave you a tiny burn and knocked a few of you over. I didn't seriously hurt any of you.”

“Aengelf, are you going to stand for this?” His words seemed to jumpstart the others. There were more shouts of assent.

The commander sighed. “By the Nine, if you weren’t who you are—”

“I’m just a simple mage, nothing more.”

Aengelf shook his head. “We both know that’s not true. You have a destiny, just as it is ours to free Skyrim.”

Discomfort swept through him. Ronan felt it then. The familiar urge to flee. He looked out into the darkness. Serana was somewhere nearby, maybe watching, maybe working on cutting free from her bonds—

Hands clamped down on his shoulders. “I know that look. You’re not going anywhere. I want that bow.” 

“I’m not giving it up.”

“—Take it from him, Harjolf!”

“—Give him a nice cuff!”

“—Yeah, he let that leech go! She’ll kill more of our own!”

“Silence! SILENCE!” Aengulf bellowed. It took time, but the soldiers eventually quieted.

Aengulf, for the first time, looked tired. He was losing control over his company. “Just hand the bow over,” he sighed. “And we’ll leave you alone.”

“I can’t do that.” Ronan’s mind raced. What could he offer instead?

“Liste—”

“I could teach you something—a spell?” One of the men laughed. “I could give you more gold?”

Aengelf rubbed his face. “Harjolf? Would that do?”

“I’m afraid not. I have my mind set.” Harjolf began to tug at the bow on his back.

What else could he offer? He had nothing left to bargain with. Suddenly, a thought leapt into his thoughts. “Wait! Just wait! Let me make one final offer.”

Aengelf waved his hand and Harjolf released him. Ronan smoothed down his robes while anxiety bubbled inside him. Oh, this was so incredibly stupid.

“I’ll fight you for it.” There were a series of astounded laughs. “If you win, I’ll give you the bow and all the coin in my purse.” The soldiers quieted. “If I win, you get neither, and you let me and Theren go without any other trouble.”

Harjolf shifted. “How much is left in your purse?”

“Somewhere around 75 pieces of gold.”

Aengelf actually grinned from behind his beard. “How about it, Harjolf? You up for a friendly wager and a good ole brawl?”

Several shouts from the soldiers goaded him on. “Don’t be a milk-drinker! That’s an easy win, Harjolf!” yelled Brinnid with a razor smile.

The Nord grunted and met Ronan’s eyes. “Only fists,” he said and walked a few paces away. The soldiers whooped and shuffled in closer to form a loose circle. Theren was pushed into it as well.

The carriage driver leaned closer to him. “Giving the bow over sounds easier. Less painful too. That Nord won’t be holding back any of his punches.”

“It’s alright, Theren. After this, it’s over either way.” Ronan assured him while his stomach churned. He wasn’t much of a fighter, and Harjolf, as the man removed his armor and shirt, was much burlier than him.

Aengelf approached him. “I’d take those robes off at least. It’ll be easier to move around. Shirt, too, if you want to avoid the bloodstains.” Ronan’s stomach dropped.

With his heart in his mouth, he removed his robes, and after a moment, decided to take off his shirt as well, leaving him in just his trousers and shoes. He slipped his ring into his pocket. Unlike Harjolf, who had broad shoulders and thick arms, Ronan was built smaller. He had a trim body, and the muscles he had on him were lean and less developed. While he was an adventurer, he was mainly a mage and an academic.

Ronan made fists and lifted his arms.

Harjolf grinned and did the same. “You ready over there?”

Ronan nodded and went for the element of surprise; he sucker-punched him in the gut. Harjolf laughed and moved safely out of the way. Then the Nord drew his back fist and swung at Ronan’s face. The mage jumped to the side, but it was a feint. Harjolf’s other fist slammed into his side.

There was a shout from the crowd as the first blow landed.

Ronan bent over and wheezed in pain. Harjolf didn’t follow through, just stepped back and stayed light on his toes. Ronan realized then that he was at a massive disadvantage. He pulled himself back into a fighting stance. Maybe mind tricks would work?

“How’s that burn feeling?”

“Probably much better than your ribs.” The Nord returned, and without pausing, smashed a fist into his other side. Ronan grunted. “There. Now the bruises will match.”

Right, so Ronan wasn’t cut out for mind games either. It was time to endure.

Harjolf drew his arm back for another swing, but Ronan was ready this time. He quickly jabbed forward and landed a punch to his jaw. Right on that jagged scar. The Nord’s eyes flashed.

Like lightning, he retaliated and struck Ronan across the face. The soldiers had to hurriedly move out of the way as the mage flew to the ground. Ronan’s cheek smarted.

Harjolf chuckled. “Just say the word and this will stop.” The soldiers around them jeered.

Ronan only spat out a bit of blood and pushed himself to his feet.

The two continued to trade blows. For every hit he landed, Harjolf gave him two or three in return. Ronan’s right eye had swollen shut and he could barely see anything through it. His torso ached with every step, littered with bruises and probably a couple fractures. However, he was particularly proud of how puffy Harjolf’s cheek had gotten.

“Just give up,” the Nord growled.

Ronan didn’t answer, just swung a fist out that was quickly avoided. He was getting slower with the pain.

Harjolf roared and rushed him. Ronan grabbed onto his sweaty body to hold himself up, while the Nord struck his kidneys, once, twice, and then pushed his arms off. Ronan staggered back and fell in the dirt.

Harjolf waited, but Ronan didn’t get back up. He couldn’t tell where up was. Everything throbbed. 

The soldiers cheered. Harjolf spat. “That’s what I thought, milk-drinker,” he said and turned his back.

Ronan growled and threw himself to his feet. He swayed but stayed upright by some miracle and stumbled toward the Nord. Harjolf didn’t see him coming. Ronan blindly threw out his fist and felt triumph when it connected.

Harjolf turned. “You little—”

Ronan didn’t wait to hear the rest. He pushed his whole body into his next punch. It hit the Nord right in the eye. The man actually staggered for the first time. 

“Don’t,” Ronan wheezed, feeling the prevalent taste of blood in his mouth “count me out yet.”

The fight hobbled on. Harjolf still landed two blows for each of his, but Ronan kept coming at him harder. The Nord looked bewildered.

A punch to his gut sent Ronan sprawling on his back again, but he teetered right back up and struck the Nord in the face. Harjolf’s eye was now a deep purple, just like his.

Ronan feinted a hit, almost losing his balance but he caught himself, and struck again. The Nord lost his footing and landed on the ground. Ronan wish he could properly see the shock on his face.

Harjolf stood much easier than him and settled back into his stance, watching him warily. Ronan felt and didn’t feel at all the next punch to his ribs. 

Finally, it came to the end they were all expecting. Harjolf slammed a fist into his jaw and Ronan’s head snapped to the side. He barely felt it when he fell down. His body wasn’t listening to him, and his eyes had troubles focusing.

The Nord crouched beside him. “You okay there?”

Ronan pressed his head in the dirt and closed his eyes. He had failed. All of their hard work and a Stormcloak was going to have Auriel’s Bow in his possession.

Ronan grunted. “You win.”

Harjolf grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed dangerously. None of the soldiers were cheering like Ronan expected. Someone, Theren he presumed, handed him his clothes.

“Just give me a moment, and I’ll give you your money,” he rasped. “The bow is yours. A deal’s a deal.”

Harjolf chuckled. Ronan forced an eye open. “Do you have to laugh?”

“Yes. You should never hold back laughter. And our wager is off –keep your things.”

Ronan straightened up and regretted it immediately. The Nord took some of his weight. “What are you talking about?”

Harjolf shrugged. “Technically your coin and bow should be mine. But you were sorely outmatched and yet you kept going. You impressed me. I call the deal off.”

Ronan blinked. “I have to give you something in return.”

Harjolf grinned. “I will claim your friendship then, and one day, when stories of you have spread, I can say that I beat you in a fight.”

Ronan actually laughed. It made his ribs and chest ache. “Sounds more than fair to me.” 

Harjolf clapped him on the back and chuckled again when he grunted. “You might not look it, but you’re a warrior at heart, friend.

“My name’s Ronan. Ronan Morwing.”

“Well, Ronan,” that was Aengelf’s voice. Ronan still couldn’t see very well out of his right eye. “We’ve placed all your things back in the carriage. Theren is already seated and ready. Let me guide you over there. You’ve taken quite a beating.”

Ronan let him grab his arm and direct him. The other soldiers touched his shoulder as they went by and wished him safe travels. Brinnid even asked Talos to look after him.

Ronan saw the carriage and clambered up. All of their things were there, like the commander had promised. Auriel’s Bow rested on top of his pack.

He looked down at Aengelf with his good eye. “What’s changed with them all?” he gestured to the solders.

“They’ve had some food in their bellies and even got some entertainment out of it all. The fight was a good one too. I imagine they feel more human than they have in days.”

Aengelf suddenly shifted in place. “I’m sorry that this had to happen. I promise you that if our paths cross again, I will fulfill our debt to you.”

He leaned in closer and whispered. “Also the vampire returned while you two were fighting. She’s kept her distance, but she’s waiting.”

“You won’t try to grab her again?”

Aengelf looked down. “After everything that’s been revealed today, I’ll believe you when you say she’s no threat. I haven’t told the others, in case they had different feelings.” 

Ronan grasped his arm. “Thank you. You’ve got a good group here.” He lowered his voice. “But I won’t be so understanding the next time you assault one of my travelling companions.”

He must have looked a sight, with a swollen eye and bruised all over, barely able to support himself, but Aengelf nodded like he took him seriously. “I wouldn’t want to make an enemy of you.”

Ronan relaxed and let go of his arm. Theren snapped the reins and they were off. Ronan hissed and groaned as he tried to pull on his shirt before he gave up and just settled for slipping into his robes. When the soldiers were completely out of view, Ronan asked him to stop.

It was only a few seconds later that Serana emerged from the trees, appearing seamlessly like a ghost. Theren spoke soothingly to the horse as it tossed its mane and shot Ronan a glance, but the carriage driver said nothing. Maybe he was too afraid to speak his mind or maybe he was willing to trust his word as well. Ronan was in too much pain to care either way. 

Serana’s eyes glowed as she climbed into the carriage. Ronan noticed that the rope was gone and her wrists were raw. Her eyes flitted over him before she looked away, tightening her jaw.

It was almost completely dark out now. They didn’t travel for much longer before pulling over to the side of the road to make camp. They chose to spend the night beside a large rock face with an overhang that would block most of the wind.

Ronan limped over to the fire Serana was building and stifled a groan as he sat down. Serana paused in her movements for a few seconds before wordlessly returning to her task. Theren sensed the strain between them and quickly excused himself to his new horse.

Serana fed a twig to the fire. Ronan removed his robes and called what little healing magic he knew to his fingertips, unable to contain a grunt as he did. He got the swelling down around his eye until it only felt a little tender. He noticed the purple bruise high on Serana’s cheekbone from where Aengelf hit her.

“Can I see…?” he reached out to her.

Serana leaned away. “No.” She fed another twig to the fire.

Ronan sighed. His healing magic wouldn’t work on her anyway, he told himself. It was useless to the undead. He began to work on mending his ribs, hissing through his teeth as he definitely felt a fractured bone or two meld back together. That was the thing about healing magic. It might accelerate the process, but it didn’t rid the person of the pain.

Ronan kept working on his injuries until he only felt lightly bruised all over rather than how everything throbbed in time with his heartbeat before. It took him over half an hour and his eyes were heavy by the end of it. Since healing wasn’t a specialty of his, it drained him more.

Serana still hadn’t spoken to him, but she kept glancing his way every so often. Ronan caught her rubbing her wrists a few times.

“You should clean those. Don’t want them to get infected.” He placed their only canteen in the space between them.

Serana stilled and Ronan held in a breath. Her hand darted out to take the canteen and she rinsed her wounds off without a word.

Ronan dug through their pack and offered her a roll of cloth. Their fingers accidentally brushed as she grabbed it. She snatched her hand back. Ronan pretended nothing had happened. It was quiet while she wrapped her wrists. He could hear Theren murmuring to the horse as he brushed its coat.

Serana put the roll away. The fire crackled. As the silence between them dragged on, an invisible weight settled against his chest and pressed.

He closed his eyes. It had been a long day.

Icy fingertips traced his chest, lingering on his heart. Ronan’s eyes snapped open. Serana didn’t flinch. She just slowly withdrew her hand back to her side and averted her gaze.

“It’s cold. You should put your clothes back on.”

Ronan fought a blush. This was the most undressed Serana had ever seen him. He gingerly pulled on his shirt and slid his arms back into his robes. “Thanks,” he murmured.

Serana’s hands curled into fists in her lap. “I thought you were going to run with me.”

“I tried. They got to me before I could.”

Her knuckled were deathly white. “It is taking everything in me not to go back there and show those idiots what I can do.” A hiss escaped from her clenched lips.

She faced him then and her eyes looked more crimson than orange in the moment. “But the only thing holding me back is that I also feel like beating _you_.”

He went to touch her, but she pulled away with a curled lip. “No,” her voice rose. “You idiot. What were you thinking?”

“They wanted the bow. I needed to protect it.”

She poked him in the chest. Hard. “Then let them have the damn bow! It’s not worth it.”

Ronan tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form. He couldn’t describe the kind of fear that had gripped him when she had been hurt and was being tied up in front of him, or the hopelessness he had felt when he had lost the bow.

But now, looking at the angry lines of her face, while her eyes held a suspicious sheen, he had a feeling she knew exactly how it felt.

Ronan grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer. Serana snarled and struggled against him, but he managed to wrap his arms around her and hold tight. Her fingers dug into his skin and he grunted in pain but didn’t let go.

“You idiot.” The fight drained out of her and she slumped against him.

“I know.”

“I’m not leaving you behind like that again.”

This was the first time he had ever held her. He nosed her raven hair. “Okay.” 

Things were quiet between them. At this point, Theren had to have heard them fighting earlier and was consciously giving them distance. There was only so much grooming to do for a horse.

Ronan suddenly chuckled and Serana pressed closer to him. He hadn't noticed before, but she smelled like the forest, after it rained. Her breath puffed against his neck and made him shiver.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking about how terrible of a break this has been so far.”

He could feel her smile against him. “Could be worse. Did I tell you about the time I woke up in a place I didn’t recognize, and a stranger was standing there with a bunch of corpses next to him?”

Ronan sat up in alarm, but then her words clicked in his head and his body relaxed. Serana didn’t miss his response and laughed into his shoulder. He grumbled, but he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, wrote a lot more than I expected. If you have the time, let me know how you felt about the interaction with the Stormcloaks. I did my best to avoid portraying them as "fight first, think later," because I feel like that could be an easy mistake to make and a bit of stereotyping for the Nords. So let me know if I failed in that or not. 
> 
> The story has been really coming along so far, and I might even get another chapter posted this weekend.


	3. Pulled Too Tightly, Things Tear

Ronan clicked the walnut door shut. “Serana?” he called.

“Back here.”

Ronan walked around the cylindrical room, passing the beautiful indoor garden planted in the center, where flowers, vines, moss, and all matter of mushrooms were looked after. He found her at the alchemy table, chatting with Toldfir who sat nearby.

“Serana here is quite proficient in potions.” said the old professor.

Serana peered over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow. “He’s exaggerating. I am just making a basic healing potion.”

The mage laughed. “Proficiently!”

Ronan smiled and leaned against the wall. “Tolfdir is quite talented at alchemy himself when he manages to hunt down who last borrowed his equipment.” He shook his head. “You have to stop giving the apprentices so much leeway with your things.”

Tolfdir hummed. “Funny, I seem to remember lending you my alembic, and then you almost lit the storage room on fire.”

“Why was there so much straw stored in there?!”

Serana snorted. “You didn’t.”

Tolfdir chuckled. “Yes, and if I remember correctly, you had already risen above apprentice and had moved into the Hall of Countenance.”

“I’m terrible at alchemy,” Ronan groused.

“Then perhaps Serana can teach you sometime.” Tolfdir stood up and smoothed down his robes. “You must excuse me. I have to go and teach my next class. It was pleasure to speak with you, Serana.”

“You too.”

Ronan smiled. “Thanks for letting us visit your quarters.”

“It’s no trouble. I still mostly potter around the Hall of Attainment. I prefer to be around the apprentices. It makes me feel young.” With that, the wizened professor left.

Serana poured her mixture into a flask and stoppered it. “All done. Did you manage to track down your professors and get all your magical quandaries answered?”

Ronan grinned. “Yes, and I have a new book to study. Speaking of, I just need to drop off the falmer text at the Arcanaeum and then we can go to the tavern like we’d planned. I’m sorry to have left you here earlier.”

Serana waved her hand. “It’s no big deal. You went with me to Drevis’ lecture this morning, and his illusions were amazing to see. I was completely convinced that was a real spriggan, until he pointed out the lack of auditory illusion.”

“Drevis’ illusions never get old to see. He hardly ever repeats the same one.”

They started heading toward the library. Serana continued with a sidelong glance. “Also when Tolfdir showed up to keep me some company, he had some _illuminating_ stories to tell.”

Ronan’s heart quickened. “Oh?”

“Yes, something about a young Dunmer apprentice turning you completely green?”

He breathed out. At least she didn’t know about the animals he’d been turned into afterwards. That had not been pleasant. “Brelyna wanted to practice some of her spells. Unfortunately, the green only faded after two hours. I had to attend one of my lectures like that.”

Serana let out a laugh. A smile stole across his lips. He was glad those stories were good for something other than embarrassment.

They walked down the stairs. “Also a bit of warning: I would stay away if J’zargo offers you any magical scrolls. They’re a bit of a fire hazard.”

“Found out by personal experience?” 

Ronan shook his head. “No, I’d learned my lesson by then. Onmund, sadly, did not. He lost both his eyebrows and some hair. He refused to take off his hood for a long time until everything grew back.”

Serana was still chuckling as they turned the corner. The Arcanaeum opened up into view. Books lined every table and ledge, and there were several teetering stacks that would only take a gentle breeze to topple over. Ronan knew there were even more tombs locked behind the enclosed bookcases that covered the walls.

Serana began checking the tables and sweeping a hand across their undersides.

“What are you looking for?”

“Your name. Carved into the table. I’m guessing you slept here more than your bed.”

Heat suffused his cheeks. She wasn’t far off. Ronan had fallen asleep here many a times until he was forcibly wakened and kicked out for the night. Luckily, Serana was too distracted by a grizzled Orc that stood up from behind a large desk to notice.

“He wouldn’t dare damage anything here. Not in my library.”

Ronan was always struck by how deep his voice was. He felt like he should feel it reverberate in his own chest.

“Serana, meet Urag gro-Shub, the Bookmaster of the college. Urag, I’ve brought you this,” he set the falmer text down. “I thought you might be able to get it translated.”

Urag inspected the book and made a noise in the back of his throat when he saw the runes. “The falmer language. This is a rare find, but I think that I might know someone. Come back in a few days.” 

Ronan was used to his brusque manner and turned to leave, but Serana lingered. “Urag,” she said. The Orc grunted, still examining the spine. “By chance, have you heard of the Parable of the Sweet Roll and the Cabbage?”

Urag actually turned his attention away from the book. “Who has been spewing that garbage at you?”

“Wow, so it _is_ real.”

Ronan stepped forward. “It’s not garbage—”

This was the first time he had ever seen Urag grin and show his full set of teeth. The Orc looked at Serana. “That was a story written by Lucious Vesanus, who is generally considered by scholars to have been mad. The parable has been dismissed as senseless ramblings.” 

Serana’s eyes lit up in glee. Urag sent him a slightly judgmental look, and Ronan just knew that he would get flak for years over this. He grabbed Serana’s arm and steered her out of the room. Serana allowed him. She could practically turn into stone when she wanted.

“There’s just a lot of metaphors burying everything,” he grumbled and released her when they had made it outside.

“I’m sure. You’re a very clever mage.” 

Ronan glared at her, but Serana was annoyingly distracting with those ruby lips split into a smirk that his indignation quickly fizzled and died to be replaced by something else. He averted his gaze and kept walking.

Evening was starting to fall. Both him and Serana had agreed it would be better to stay at the tavern in town than the open concept rooms provided for the students of the college. It was just a precaution. They really didn’t need a repeat incident of the Stormcloaks.

Together, they entered the Frozen Hearth. It wasn’t very crowded inside. A healthy fire was burning in the center while people milled about. In the corner of the room, a bard stood and plucked a stray tune from her lute. Ronan approached the innkeeper and paid for their room and meals.

He joined Serana at a table near one of the windows. The early evening light spilled over them and did well to hide the inhuman gleam of her eyes. 

“So how long did you attend the college?”

Ronan drummed his fingers on the wood. “Three years. It felt like longer.”

“Why’d you ever leave? This kind of seems like the perfect place for you.”

His fingers stopped and a second passed, then another. “The Arch-Mage was killed.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Serana thankfully dropped the matter as their meals were placed in front of them. It was stew, and it smelled delicious. He might even eat Serana’s portion. Ronan took a sip from his tankard of mead as Serana idly dragged her spoon through the mixture.

He swallowed. “You can drink from that bottle you carry. It wouldn’t bother me.”

Serana glanced at him. “I didn’t think you had noticed.”

He placed a spoonful of stew in his mouth and tried not to react when it burned his tongue. “I see you drink from it sometimes. I figured it was blood. Go ahead.”

Serana slowly drew a bottle from her cloak. The glass was an opaque crimson.

Her fingers picked at the stopper. “It’s not from anyone nearby. While you saw my father’s court and their flair for bloodlust,” Ronan remembered the crunches as vampires feasted on human limbs, “the castle is stocked with bottles like these. Probably have been there for decades. I took a couple when I left.”

He touched her hand and made a point to meet her eyes. “It’s alright.”

The last bit of assurance was enough. Serana tipped the glass back and took a couple pulls. The muscles of her elongated neck moved as she swallowed, and her eyelids fluttered. She placed the bottle on the table with a sigh. “That does feel better.”

Ronan noticed a spot of blood staining her mouth. Red lips moved. “While vampires like my family don’t actually require blood to sustain ourselves, it does make the…cravings easier to stand the more we’ve fed. And,” she peeled off the bandages on her hand and presented her wrist to the light. It was fully healed, no sight of any rawness from before. “it restores us.” 

Some leftover neurons fired in his brain. That explained how Serana had emerged from Arcadia's claiming to be fully healed, when Ronan knew for a fact that standard healing tinctures wouldn't work on her, but he had dismissed it at the time since Serana knew far more about alchemy than he ever would.

Out loud, Ronan just hummed and gestured at his mouth. Or maybe his nose. He wasn’t sure. “You have something here.”

Serana’s lithe, pink tongue reached out and licked the corner of her lips. He could see that her fangs were still fully extended. Ronan took another huge spoonful of stew. He forgot it was hot, but he was almost thankful for the burning flash of pain and the numbness.

“You got it.”

Serana tucked the bottle away. Ronan chugged down some of his mead and tried to wash his brain. It wasn’t working. “You,” he coughed. “You never talk about it. Drinking blood.”

Serana rolled her shoulders. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t.” Honestly, he thought that Serana was the one more uncomfortable with the conversation. She kept fidgeting. He was quiet for a moment. “But how can you crave it if you don’t need it?

“Think of it like you’ve already had a full meal, but then a very tempting dessert is placed under your nose, and as long as you’re near it, you constantly smell it.”

Ronan’s stomach rumbled, and he eyed his stew. “Okay, I think I understand.”

Serana shook her head. “No, you can’t. Because I haven’t been ‘full’ in centuries. I may not need to feed, but I just feel empty instead. Blood changes that. Our systems can still process it. So it’s still like a tasty dessert being placed in front of you, but now picture how tempting that warmth, that richness, and that fullness would be to someone who is constantly deprived of it.”

Ronan’s heart dropped. Serana had never mentioned anything like that before. “Is it ever hard? To be around people?” A small pause. “To be around me?”

“Not as much as you’d think. You all smell nice, but I’ve had years of practicing self-control. It’s only bad if I’m seriously hurt, or if someone were to bleed out in front of me, and even then I’d have to be hungry.”

He winced when he thought of their journey to recover Auriel’s Bow. Neither Serana or him had particularly emerged from that journey unscathed. Another good reason to avoid getting hurt. “What about when you were sealed away? Centuries had passed.”

Her orange eyes went far away. “That was different. I wasn’t expending any energy. I was in a sort of stasis.”

“Were you just sleeping?”

Serana tilted her head. “Yes and no. Vampires are pretty human aside from the blood. I’ve never known for us to sleep that long —it didn’t feel like sleep to me. I didn’t dream. I just kind of floated in and out of awareness, but I could tell that I’d been there a long time.”

She shivered. “I wonder if my body just knew that I couldn’t leave that coffin and stayed shut down.”

His heart did a painful tug. “That sounds awful.”

“Don’t worry about it. My memory of it all is sort of hazy.”

Ronan found it hard not to worry, or to shake the little resentment he held toward Valerica for sealing her daughter away. Serana had already confronted her mother about it, but Divines, it was tough to let go…

“Hey, Ronan!”

He looked up. It was Brelyna who had called him, as she lightly pushed her way to them and set her tankard down on the table. She appeared the same since he last saw her, with blue, flawless skin that made her red eyes all the more striking. He noticed that her robes were no longer those of an apprentice; she had advanced in her studies.

“How have you been? I’ve hardly seen you since you’ve shown up.”

Ronan fiddled with his drink. “Good, thanks. I’ve been visiting with Serana here, showing her around. Serana, this is Brelyna.”

He hardly heard them as they exchanged pleasantries, but he was brought back to the present as Brelyna swung into the chair beside him. It seemed like she was staying awhile. He took a quick swig of his drink and saw Serana shoot him a look out the corner of his eye.

Brelyna was completely oblivious to the tension and took a sip from her cup. He bet it was still Black Briar’s Reserve that she favored.

“So catch me up. What have you been doing?” she asked.

“You know me. Always getting into trouble one way or another. We decided to take a break and travel up here.”

The conversation stagnated then, and he truly did not care enough to say anything else. Serana swooped in. “He was telling me about how you turned him green?”

Brelyna laughed and playfully knocked his shoulder. She looked younger then, and for a moment, he even smiled too. “That seems so long ago now. Telling her all our stories, are you?”

He hummed noncommittally and ate another bite of his food.

She turned to Serana. “Ronan arrived a year after me at the college, and we became quite close as apprentices. One time we managed to make Nirya think she lost all her books she borrowed from the Arcanaeum.” She chuckled. “She was frantic.”

“And where were they?”

Ronan spoke up. “We tied an enchantment to a soul gem and left it on her desk. Her books were right there, just invisible. We only left it that way for a couple hours,” he added. 

“It was enough. Nirya searched every nook and cranny of the college before she came back and saw it. She was enraged.”

Serana nudged him. “That seems unlike you.”

“Nirya is…unpleasant most of the time. We probably shouldn’t have done it, regardless.”

“I share no such regrets, and he’s being generous,” said Brelyna. “Nirya’s an outright menace. She’ll sabotage anyone who might get ahead of her in their studies. She once slipped sleeping powder in both of our drinks, and we slept through all our lectures the next day. Another time she locked Ronan up on the roof.”

She paused in her storytelling to take another drink. “He had to stay up there for an hour before we were let out of class and he was able to call out to us. His lips were blue and his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.”

There was a hiss.

It was too soft for Brelyna to hear, but Ronan peered over and saw that Serana’s orange eyes had narrowed into slits. He found her hand beneath the table and squeezed once before letting go. Their eyes met briefly and Serana’s features relaxed.

Brelyna was still talking. “You never did tell me how that happened. Nirya is hostile to everyone, but ever since that day, you earned her personal wrath.” 

Ronan shrugged and studied the grain of the table. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

Breylna continued. “Anyway, the two of us spent hours together studying and practicing spells, and I suppose all that time naturally led to other things.” She smirked, and Serana stiffened beside him. 

He glared into the contents of his cup. “Just quit it, Brelyna. Let’s not bring up old times. We both know that it ended badly.”

“And whose fault was that?”

He directed his glare to her. “You know whose.” 

Brelyna’s red eyes were hard, but she only held his gaze for a few seconds before her entire figure slumped. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I just couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. They made you the Arch-Mage. I would’ve never guessed it.”

Ronan felt like someone had poured steel into his spine. Adrenaline flooded through his veins and his muscles tensed to the point of pain. He couldn’t look at Serana. “I’m not the Arch-Mage.”

“Everyone knows that Tolfdir is just standing in for you, for when you’re ready.”

It was getting harder to breathe. His chest hurt. Suddenly, the bard in the room stopped her idle strumming and struck up a tune. Everyone in the room quietened, and Ronan felt almost a palpable sense of relief.

It quickly turned to dread when the woman sang the first verse.

_Our hero, our hero,_

_claims a warrior's heart._

_I tell you, I tell you,_

_the Dragonborn comes._

The chest pains were back, stronger now. He couldn’t focus on the song, but he was dimly aware as people joined in on the refrain. His hands formed fists in his lap.

_With a Voice wielding power_

_of the ancient Nord art._

_Believe, believe,_

_the Dragonborn comes._

Serana was the first to notice his distress. She reached for him, but he launched himself out of the chair and stood up. Both Brelyna and her were looking at him with a mixture of alarm and confusion.

The bard was still playing, he assured himself, so he must not have made too much of a scene.

“I need to go rest. Long day,” he managed, while the bands around his chest squeezed tighter.

Ronan didn’t wait for a reply and stumbled over to their room, closing the door behind him, and falling face-first into the double bed. His body trembled all over, and he attempted to even out his breaths to no avail. The last stanza of the song rang through the door.

_For the darkness has not passed,_

_and the legend yet grows._

_You'll know, you'll know,_

_when the Dragonborn comes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! I've also decided that I'm going to name each of my chapters after something related to knitting and/or weaving (and also hopefully what's going on in the chapter too), so that it connects to the title of my work. Feeling very excited!


	4. Unraveling

Ronan didn’t know how much time passed, but the irons bands around his chest had finally loosened and the noise outside had fallen to a faint murmur when Serana slipped inside the room. There were no windows in here, so her orange eyes were especially bright in the darkness. But they lacked their usual luster. 

Ronan sat up and lit the candle by the bed. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

She said nothing, only sat in the one chair squeezed next to a side table. Her gaze was directed at the floor. The silence unnerved him, but he supposed he deserved it and more.

He took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry for not—”

“Are you okay?”

Her question startled him mute. It took a moment to find his voice again. “Yes?”

She nodded once, sharp. “Good. I’ve never seen you that white.”

“I-yes.” He carded a hand through his hair. “But I’m better now. I was just saying that I should’ve told you—”

“I already knew.” Soft.

He was rendered speechless again. Serana finally looked up at him, and it almost physically hurt. Her eyes were gentle, containing a sea of tiny budding embers, but they were so sad.

“Tolfdir talks. He’s very proud of you. And I already suspected the other thing. That you were the Dragonborn.” Ronan winced. 

“I know what a shout sounds like, when you used it on me and the Stormcloaks,” Serana paused. “What I don’t understand is why you never told me. It didn’t even bother me to find out that you’re technically the Arch-Mage, not until I realized that you also hid that from me.” 

Shame bubbled inside him. He licked his lips. They were chapped. “I didn’t know how to handle it all. When they asked me, Savos Aren had just died, Mirabelle had just died, and I was still a small time student. I was too ashamed to tell you that I left because it was suddenly too much.”

Serana’s face was unreadable. “And the other thing?”

Divines, just thinking about the other thing made his heartbeat triple.

“After I left the college,” he started. “I wandered around and ended up in Whiterun. Weeks passed there, and I was named Thane. Then one day, I was brought before the jarl and told that the western watchtower was being attacked by a dragon,” he paused. “A dragon had been sighted for the first time in decades. Some guards and I were sent to help.” 

Dragon fire flashed through his mind. The scream of a guard as he was lifted away by claws. They didn’t find his corpse until it was all over.

“We managed to kill it. And then the strangest thing happened. All the dragon’s scales and flesh melted away, leaving behind just its bones, and an energy burned inside me. I didn’t know what had happened. All the guards were staring at me. That’s when I first heard of the Dragonborn, when I first heard of my destiny.” 

Ronan took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He kept his gaze fixed on the candle’s flickering flame. It was easier to talk that way.

“I was in denial at first, but then I learned a shout from a wall in dragon tongue. Afterwards, I didn’t want to come to terms with it. It had nothing to do with not trusting you. I’ve just always wanted to study magic. To be a mage. I’m not meant to be a hero.”

He looked down at his hands. He felt incredibly small. Ronan had a feeling then that he would somehow always stay an orphan at heart. A part of him would always belong at the orphanage with the headmistress who was too stretched thin to take care of them all, never enough as he was, always measured and found wanting.

It was the same now. People needed him and he failed all expectations.

Serana sighed and he glanced up. She was running a hand over her face. “And afterwards,” she said, “you joined the Dawnguard, and we met.” 

“Yes.”

The ensuing silence was deafening.

“You _coward_.” He flinched. Serana removed her hand, and her eyes breathed fire.

“You jump from place to place to place and just leave everyone behind.” She waved her hand. “Is that what this is? Is this ‘break’ you wanted us to take another instance of you running away?”

Ronan’s eyes widened. “No, not at all!”

She pinched the bridge of your nose. Her voice lowered. “I don’t believe you. I feel so stupid. You’re right about one thing though. You are no hero.”

He reached for her as she stood up. “This isn’t the same!” 

“Don’t.” His arm fell away. “I can’t be like you and ignore things and just hope they go away. I’m going to stop my father.” She stepped toward the door.

“Wait. Please,” his voice cracked. Serana stilled but didn’t turn around. He carefully stood up.

“I’ll leave, okay? It’s safer.”

Serana didn’t move for a long moment and Ronan waited for her to snap back, to claim that she could break him in half like a stick without even a sweat, and that she could handle herself. It was all true.

But Serana did none of that, just ever so slightly inclined her head.

Ronan passed her and was careful not to let any part of them brush. He pulled open the door and looked back. Serana still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Something in his chest sunk.

“I’ll be at the college.” He hesitated. “I promise you that I’m in this the entire way. Please don’t leave without me.” 

Serana didn’t react at all to his words. Ronan felt like saying anything more might cause the final tear between them. He turned and left.

The night was long and cold. 

* * *

Ronan hardly slept. He rolled and rolled in his sheets and doze for minutes at a time before starting the process over again. At the first sign of morning, he dragged himself out of bed. His hair stuck up in odd places, and his clothes were creased all over. He hadn’t bothered changing the previous night. Ronan left the college as he was and immediately headed toward the tavern.

The cold air was so sharp that it stung. It was a welcome feeling compared to the sensation that someone had carved out his insides; he felt hollow. His footsteps quickened as the doors to the inn came closer into view.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach. 

Inside, the place was practically empty. The innkeeper was stirring a pot of something over the fire and a single guest ate at one of the tables. Under normal circumstance, he’d find the scene peaceful, but not with his heartrate spiraling out of control.

Ronan approached the room they had rented and rapped his knuckled gently against the wood. There was no answer. The feeling in his stomach intensified. He quietly twisted the knob and pulled.

The room was empty. The bed neatly made and nothing out of place.

He closed the door shut and rested his weight against it. His heartbeat roared in his ears. She had left. She had left and thought he didn’t care to see this through. That he was only running again. Neither was true.

His eyes zeroed in on the innkeeper. She had left, but maybe not that long ago.

Somehow, his feet took him to the innkeeper standing over the fire. The blonde-haired man glanced at him. “What can I do for you? Interested in breakfast?”

Ronan forced his mouth to move. “The woman, who was staying in the room I rented, where did she go?”

The ladle hit the side of the pot. “Not sure. She was gone before I got up.” He squinted at him. “You don’t look so good. Why don’t you sit down?”

Ronan was already backing away. “I’m fine, thanks.” He burst back outside.

He paced through the snow in circles and was completely oblivious to the looks he received as people passed him by. Where would she go? Where would she go? Where would she—

The college. Auriel’s Bow was still there.

It was closer to a run than a walk as he headed in that direction. Even if she had already left there, someone had to have seen her. She’d stick to the main road—

Ronan collided with something and slammed to the ground. He grunted. There was a hiss and his head snapped up.

But no, it was not Serana.

It was another vampire. A man armed with a dagger and the familiar red wisps of magic springing from his fingers. Looking behind him, there seemed to be only one more. The robes marked him as a mage. Harkon had found them. Or rather, they had found just Ronan.

He pictured a spire of flames shooting from between razor teeth and thrusted his hand out.

Nothing happened. His nerves were fried.

The vampire flashed his fangs. “Where’s your companion?”

“Far gone from here,” spat Ronan and tried to flee, but the vampire only snarled and pushed him back down, placing a boot on his chest.

The man traced the dagger against his neck. The metal of the blade was cool and Ronan suppressed a shiver. “Do we really need this one?”

“He might be useful, but I don’t see why we can’t play a bit,” said the mage. Their discussion was interrupted.

“—Hey, who are you? State your business with this man.”

A few things happened at once when the guard intervened: the vampire smirked and drew back his arm with the dagger, Ronan yanked at his boot and tried to trip him, the vampire hissed and changed targets, and—

A spike of ice flew through the air and pierced him straight through the stomach.

Ronan’s heart jumped.

The vampire crumpled to the ground in front of him. His features still contained shock as blood seeped from the wound and his body went limp. Seeing this, the mage shouted and flung an answering spike at the guard.

Ronan’s arm shot out. A ward thrummed to life, whisking snow flurries into the air. He groaned as the spike smacked against the flimsy erected shield, but the ward held. The guard was no worse for wear.

From somewhere, another spike lanced through the air and impaled the mage in the shoulder, sending the caster to the ground. The guard rushed forward to finish the job.

Ronan rested his head back in the snow. A shadow stood over him and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning as a hand helped pull himself up. Another shot out to steady him when he swayed for a second on his feet.

Serana smiled. “Teamwork, right there.”

Even though he knew the minute the ice spike appeared that it was her, Ronan was still floored to see her. He had been so certain that she had left. She didn’t look angry now or hurt.

“I think it was more of a solo act,” he ventured.

Her eyes softened. “You cut yourself short.”

Serana gaze swept over him, taking in the wild state of his hair and the wrinkles dotting his clothes, while Ronan willed his face not to redden. He felt naked. Once orange eyes were done considering him, her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but their reunion had to be cut short.

The guard came up and approached them “Why is it that I’m always cleaning up the college’s messes?”

Ronan sighed. It was not just at the guard. In general, the townspeople seemed bent on blaming every problem they had on the college. 

“Maybe you should be thankful there was a mage present,” said Brelyna as she and Faralda appeared, taking the last steps down from the college’s entrance and joining them.

Faralda continued. “She’s right. Or else you might have taken something else to the knee, if you were lucky.” 

The guard spluttered. “I had it under control!”

As the man ranted, Brelyna glanced over at them and winked. “Best be on your way,” she said.

Surprised, Ronan hesitated. They should do something with the bodies, but Serana tugged at his arm and Brelyna seemed confident that they’d handle it. He sent her a grateful smile before following Serana back to the college to collect their things.

It was quiet as they walked the somewhat perilous path, stepping carefully around the crumbling edges of stone to avoid falling below. The college these days was situated across a chasm. It was a steep drop.

Ronan was a bit afraid to break the silence. Nothing was resolved as far as he knew, but the air wasn’t riddled with tension and things almost felt peaceful between the two. He didn’t want to be the one to change that.

“I owe you an apology.”

Ronan almost tripped. “Pardon?” That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“I went to bed last night angry. Enraged. But once I calmed down, I realized that I had been unfair to you. You’re not a coward.”

In fact,” she rolled her eyes here, “Toldfir mentioned something about how you saved the college and them all. And while I don’t doubt your abilities, I find it kind of ridiculous that they tried to push a student into being the Arch-Mage.”

Ronan stared. “But what about how I’ve been avoiding my fate as the last Dragonborn?”

He felt vaguely sick still as he said it.

Serana shrugged. “Maybe you haven’t handled that great, but out of anyone, I should know the pressures of being thrusted into a role like that. I’ve been trying to stop a prophecy.”

She spoke quieter, “I think I reacted so strongly since it felt like you were hiding this all from me. And…I was afraid you were just going to run again.” 

He pulled her to a stop and caught her gaze. “That not why I hid it.” His voice grew firmer. “And I won’t do that again.”

She looked down. “I believe you.” They resumed walking.

Ronan still didn’t like how they had left it. He threw his arms out. “Well, you can ask me something now! Anything you want, and I will give you the full, unabridged answer, I swear.”

Serana mulled it over. Ronan was prepared to reveal one of his deepest secrets or one of his most painful experiences, –his time spent as an orphan, why he travelled here from High Rock, _how_ he travelled here from High Rock, his relationship with Brelyna— anything was on the table, and he would be completely honest. 

“So how did Nirya get the drop on you?”

That wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. Ronan glanced at her, but Serana was facing forward.

“Are you sure that’s what you want to ask?”

Her orange eyes flitted over to meet his. “I’m sure.”

They slowed to a stop beneath the college’s stone arch.

Ronan nodded to himself. “Alright, so after we pranked Nirya, I was feeling guilty. She may have started it, but it didn’t feel right to respond the same way. So I went to her and confessed. I apologized for doing it and didn’t mention Brelyna’s involvement. I explained that I just wanted to study at the college and that I didn’t want to be enemies.”

He snorted. “Looking back, it was a stupid move on my part.”

“Not stupid at all,” Serana said. He gave her a look. “Okay, maybe a little, but foolishly noble too.”

He blushed. “Right, well, Nirya was upset at first, but she seemed to take it well. In fact, I thought maybe we could be friends or at least polite to each other. One day, Nirya asked me to meet her on the roof because she wanted help with an incantation. Like a fool, I agreed and showed up the next morning, and that’s when she locked me up there.”

Serana hummed as she regarded him. “Sounds like you.”

“Any other questions?”

“No, I think I’m good for now. Let’s get our stuff and head for Castle Dawnguard. I’m sure Isran will be thrilled to see me again. I’m secretly his favorite.”

He grabbed her hand before she could walk off.

“What is it?”

Ronan stepped closer. “Since I haven’t been clear about it lately, I want you to know that I'll be with you every step of this. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Serana searched his eyes. A tense moment passed between them, and a smile curled on the corners of those red lips. She pushed him away.

“Just go get our things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, tried to post this yesterday and forgot that the site was gong to be down for awhile, but here it is! Slightly shorter chapter, but no less important. I really enjoyed writing about the different characters at the college.


	5. Lace It Together

Isran kneeled over a roughly sketched map in the dirt. “We’ll attack tomorrow morning. We’ve secured three rowboats to cross the waters. Gunmar, will the trolls stay calm during the trip? I don’t want to be thrown overboard.”

“Aye, they’ll be fine.” The Nord met Isran’s gaze until the Dawnguard commander nodded.

“Good, after we cross, we’ll soon be discovered at the gates. Ronan, you’ll take point with Auriel’s bow--”

Ronan flushed. “I can’t do that.”

Isran set his unmoving brown eyes on him. “Why not?”

“I’ve never used a bow.”

His statement was met with mixed reactions. Gunmar swiped one of his bear-sized hands over his mouth to stifle his mirth. Durak’s tusks pressed into his upper lip as he scowled, while a faint smile played on Sorine’s lips. Neither hers nor Gunmar’s amusement felt malicious though. Isran’s expression didn’t change at all, which was normal.

Inwardly, Ronan sighed. Everyone here knew he was a mage. How would archery factor in? He glanced at Serana, and she rolled her eyes in a way that said _I can’t believe them either._ He felt a little better. 

Unfazed, Isran continued. “Fine, Sorine will take it off your hands. She’s our best marksman.”

Serana watched them exchange the weapon warily. Ever since they had obtained it in the Vale, she had refused to touch it. With its sun damage, the bow was highly lethal to vampires and apparently its threat was palpable just by its aura.

It couldn’t be comforting to see one of the Dawnguard handling it. Although Sorine was different from most. She was always polite to Serana and interested to hear her thoughts. Which, thinking about it, was a rather low bar to meet. 

Isran straightened up. “After that, it’s pretty straight forward. Storm the castle. Kill any threats.”

“You’re such a complicated man,” Gunmar observed.

“Simple plans work best.”

Isran addressed the rest of the party. “We’re going to have to be as ruthless as our enemies. They won’t show us any mercy. Are we clear?” He looked at each of them in turn. 

Durak crossed his arms. “It’s not us who needs to be reminded.” He stared pointedly at Serana.

“If you’re so concerned, try me. You’ll find that I’m very ruthless.”

Durak’s hand dropped to his axe. Serana merely raised an eyebrow. She’d been on edge lately, and their travelling companions weren’t helping matters. Ronan didn’t move, but he found it easy to imagine a poker, cherry-red from bathing in flames. His blood started to boil in his arms and move down to his hands.

Isran expression was stone. “I understand your feelings, but I told you, she’s an ally.” His expression didn’t look nearly as pained as the first time he’d said it. “Are you questioning my command?” 

Durak’s hackles lowered. “No.” His hand fell away from his weapon.

“Good, then I’d say we’re dismissed. Go back to your camps.”

Durak grunted and was the quickest to leave after sending one last glare Serana’s way. She smirked in return. Ronan rolled his eyes and tugged her away.

Fires dotted the landscape for sixty meters, and quiet chatter filtered through the air as they headed toward the outskirts of their company. Most of the Dawnguard didn’t have any desire to sleep with a vampire next to them, so they had made their own camp. Not that anything had to be said. It wasn’t like Serana wanted to be near them either.

Most of the recruits had joined because of their past experiences with vampires, none of which were good, so Ronan understood their fear and even their hostility to an extent, but that didn’t make anything better.

Serana was still buzzing with righteous indignation beside him, but he noticed as her shoulders slowly curled into themselves as Dawnguard members paused in their conversations to watch them walk by. Moments like these were when a deep-set anger would settle inside his bones.

They wouldn’t even be here without the woman beside him.

Ronan concerned himself with building the fire when they returned. If he was rougher than usual setting up the wood, it was merely because it was difficult to get any flames going. The land here was mostly made up of marshes, so the wood was often wet. Magic made it a slightly less exhaustive process. 

Once a fire was burning happily away, Ronan threw in a stick and watched as a stray tendril reached out and licked it. The twig was sent aflame until it grew into a cluster of glowing embers and died.

He threw in another one and eyed Serana.

She stared into the night, appearing far away in thought. She’d look startlingly statue-like if not for the occasional wind that swept through her ink-black hair. Her expression was hard to read, but by the deep crinkle in her brow, it wasn’t anything resembling peace. It had been that way since they started their journey north.

He thought of unkind gazes and broken families. “How are you doing?”

Serana didn’t move for a long time. She blinked. “As good as I can be –-enough to do what’s needed.”

It was the same reply as the last few days.

He thought of a younger Serana then, a little girl who was told to lie at the feet of Molag Bal and worship without question. Serana never said if her experience was like that, --in fact, she didn’t like talking about those experiences at all— but he couldn’t help but think that she was too young to have made that choice for herself yet.

She’d described afterwards wandering through the bowels of the castle by herself, while her mother engrossed herself in her studies and her father slowly, even with his newfound immortality, succumbed to the lures of a prophecy.

Ronan fidgeted with his hands. “I know that you think you need to do this, and the others here might expect you to, but they’re wrong. You have nothing to prove to anyone.”

Serana regarded him with her orange gaze. “I will see this through.”

“You heard Isran; they’re not taking prisoners.”

“I know,” she was quiet for a moment as the gravity of that statement hung between them. “Believe me, while I’m not close with any of his court, who I’m not sure even deserve pity, it’s still something I’m struggling with. We’re about to ransack what was once my home.”

“But,” she met his eyes, “I’m not trying to prove anything to them, to Isran, or to any of his recruits. I’m trying to prove something to _myself_.” 

Ronan frowned. “And what’s that?”

“When we were changed, my family was told it was a gift. But I can’t help but feel with more and more certainty that it’s actually a curse. That it has tainted us to the core and it’s only a matter of time until I cave to my nature.”

Her eyes flared brightly, and she leaned forward. “I am trying to do what’s right– I am trying to prove that I _know_ what to do what’s right.” She held his gaze for a moment before her features shuttered and she looked away.

Ronan was speechless. He hadn’t realized the weight she’d been carrying around. Serana had always been good in his eyes precisely because she kept trying. She was wrapped in contradiction. Vampires were seen as creatures of the dark, and yet she burned so fiercely with an inner light.

 _“Light and darkness, that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it?”_ The words echoed through his mind.

Ronan felt like an idiot. There was so much more to that conversation than he’d known, and he’d given her a silly story in return. He opened his mouth to say something, but another voice interrupted.

“Molag Bal plants seeds of chaos wherever he goes.”

It was Florentius.

The priest had appeared out of seemingly nowhere, fully suited in his armor, and gazing up at the stars. He had been absent at the meeting earlier. Although, truth to be told, Isran might have purposely left him out of the conversation.

Florentius was still talking. “He’s probably very pleased by Harkon’s efforts, and yet still pleased that we’ve come to stop him. No one escapes him without payment. This is yours.” 

The priest paused for a second, as if listening to something, then spoke again. “Arkay doesn’t like the misuse of mortal souls. He likes it even less when mortals willingly pursue such things, but if this helps, he says that he’s still unsure of you, Daughter of Coldharbor.”

Serana flinched.

Ronan swiftly changed the subject. “What are you doing out here?”

Brown eyes regarded him. “Going for a walk. Arkay grows restless for some reason. He won’t share why, so I decided to enjoy the stars,” he gestured to the sky. “Pinpricks of light shining through a blanket of darkness. It’s beautiful how the two collide, hmmm?”

The priest didn’t wait for a response. “Arkay says he agrees with me…he seems a little more settled now, good. His blessings to you.” Florentius wandered away.

Ronan shot Serana a look that conveyed his overall confusion and amusement –two emotions that he always felt after a conversation with Florentius, but Serana was staring off into the distance again. Her orange eyes glowed with an ethereal quality in the night.

Silence reigned.

Ronan was careful choosing his words. “Whether the change was a gift or a curse,” he said. “You can’t put all the blame there for what’s happened with your family. Your parents already had problems. You told me that Harkon was the one who went searching to extend his life. His obsession could’ve very likely distanced him from Valerica anyway.” 

“We can’t know that.”

“No, but,” he struggled. “Listen, you are good.”

Serana said nothing, but her lips thinned.

“I know you don’t believe me, but you’ve set yourself apart from them since the beginning. There’s not something predetermined in your nature now that makes you evil. So keep being you, because you’ve already proven yourself different, okay? We wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the case.” 

Serana was quiet. Ronan was mostly sure she disagreed with him in every way, but he took it as a sign that she was considering his words. He fed another log of wood to the fire and watched as a shower of embers fanned out and died. It was rather pretty.

Serana sighed. “There’s a chance you may be right.” She still looked troubled though.

Ronan hummed loudly and said nothing; Serana rolled her eyes and a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I’m still going with you tomorrow. This is something I need to do.”

“Alright.”

Ronan wouldn’t press anymore. He had made his point. 

Serana exhaled. “Right, let’s talk about something else. What do you plan to do when everything’s done here?”

Assuming they would survive this fight, he hadn’t really thought about it, which was slightly by design, if he was honest with himself. As the end of their journey drew near, he was reminded that these could be his last moments with Serana. She could leave after this and do whatever she wanted. They would no longer be driven together by necessity.

Ronan avoided her eyes. “I’m not sure yet. We both know a destiny waits for me, but other than the dragon in Whiterun, I’ve heard no other sightings”

“Well, looks like neither of us can find a lighter topic tonight.”

From one of the camps, a drunken rendition of Ragnar the Red started up. They weren’t slurring too badly, just terribly off key. Ronan smiled. “I think that’s why most people turn to booze the day before battle.”

“To celebrate life,” she mused. “Alcohol might not affect me, but I’d be _very_ interested to see Ronan Morwing drunk.”

He coughed. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Then how should we celebrate?” A short pause. “Is there anything you want to do before tomorrow?”

Something in her tone was oddly daring.

Ronan looked up, and whatever he was going to say died at the back of his throat, completely forgotten.

Serana’s red lips were set into a smirk, and her orange eyes held him in place as they danced with a mischievous light. He swallowed. The air was thick with tension, like a rope ready to snap. Was she suggesting….?

He cleared his throat once and then twice. Ronan really didn’t know how she dazed him so easily. “I think I’ll just read,” he managed and drew a book from his things. “You?”

Serana’s smirk lost some of its vivacity, even though she had won and once again flustered him completely. “What have you been reading? You’ve been nose-deep in that one our entire trip here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you traded in academic studies for _The Lusty Argonian Maid_?” 

Ronan blushed hard enough he could feel his ears turn red. “No.” He brought the book closer to his face.

Serana laughed gleefully. “That doesn’t sound convincing!” She inched closer.

“It’s not, I promise!”

“Then why won’t you share? It’s unlike you.”

Ronan peeked over the binding and saw she wouldn’t let this go. He sighed and set the book down in his lap. “It’s a restoration text. Colette Marence lent me her copy.”

“Why all the secrecy? Learning more about healing could only be good for you.”

He hesitated. “Well it wouldn’t help me.”

Her brow furrowed. “Explain.”

“Alright, alright. In theory, it should help me heal _you_.”

Serana’s face went blank.

Ronan started rambling. “When we were at the college, I saw Colette. I didn’t tell her my exact intentions, because I didn’t see that going over well. I just mentioned my curiosity. She was so happy that someone was interested in her discipline for once that she didn’t really question it.”

Serana stayed silent. Ronan began to sweat. “And she gave me this book! Apparently a few mages were interested in healing corpses for funeral rites. Anyway, the first few pages were a little graphic, but I finally got into the theory—”

He glanced up from the book just as a pair of cool lips slammed into his.

Ronan froze. A hand threaded its way through his hair, while a warm feeling bubbled in his chest. _Oh._ His eyes slipped closed just as she pulled away.

Serana averted her gaze, but he caught a flash of her eyes. They were dark, burning coals. His heartrate picked up.

She backed away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Ronan’s mind wasn’t working properly. Too many dots were connecting in too little time. His mouth opened once and closed. Then opened again. “Kiss me?” he asked, and immediately pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean, y-you kissed me?

For once, Serana seemed just as anxious as him. And were her cheeks turning pink? His mind went blank again.

“Yes?”

Ronan knew how to conduct a conversation. Ronan knew how to conduct a conversation. Ronan knew—

“Oh.”

Ronan did not know how to conduct a conversation.

Serana fidgeted with her hands, and a black veil of hair fell across her face. Ronan wanted to see more of the blush. “Let’s just pretend nothing happened. It was a mistake.”

Ronan had already leaned forward to close the distance, but he halted then. “Oh,” he breathed, sending dark strands of hair flying. It was the only thing he seemed capable of saying.

Serana startled at their proximity. She glanced up at him and their eyes locked. The scent of rain invaded his nose, and he wondered if he was breathing too loudly. He couldn’t help but focus on her red, red lips.

Those same lips slowly bloomed into a smile. One he had never seen before. It was tentative but soft. He glanced up. Orange eyes watched him intently.

“May I…?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said and pulled him down by his robes.

Their lips met again. Ronan placed one hand on her cheek and the other on her neck, feeling her pulse thrum madly beneath her skin. Serana’s breath stuttered. Then she pressed even closer, but for all their passion, the kiss stayed gentle and slow. A hand fell to the edge of his shirt and slipped underneath to trace his back.

He jumped –the touch was ice.

Suddenly, she was laughing against him, and he was laughing, and their lips at this point were just sometimes brushing together. The two drew apart, but not far.

Ronan still hadn’t recovered much of his verbal skills. “So you like…?”

“Yes.” Serana rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “How could you think anything different?”

“I just thought you liked flustering me. That, and I really am defenseless to how beautiful you are.” 

“True on both counts. But didn’t you notice how I only tried to fluster _you?"_

Ronan blushed and didn’t say anything. The silence spoke for him.

Serana’s eyes gleamed. “You’re fun like this.”

He made a noise of protest. Ronan couldn't think clearly, and it wasn't helped at all when Serana leaned forward with that scorching gaze, but their moment was cut short by a series of loud, drawn-out barks.

It was howling.

Shouts of alarm sounded throughout the Dawnguard. He spotted some of the drunken recruits stumbling to grab their weapons. A few others had just woken up. In the darkness, a dozen or so crimson eyes glowed; they were death hounds.

The vampires knew they were here and had attacked tonight. There were more shouts, pained this time.

Serana was already standing up. “This is it.” The lightness from her had fled, and her eyes had turned steely.

His thoughts echoed her as he joined her side. _This is it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I knew what I wanted to have happen in this chapter, but it was a lot harder putting it to paper. I re-did the beginning at one point and then I wrote more than expected, so I moved some things to the next chapter. But hey, we finally got a kiss! Please let me know what you think!


	6. Hit a Snag

Serana and him sprinted through the darkness. They needed to regroup with Isran and the others and form a plan. Cries followed on the backs of howls and hisses, as red streams of light flashed, and snapping jowls reverberated throughout the marshland. Occasionally, steel on steel clashed, but there didn’t seem to be much of a fight. 

They were being snuffed out like measly candles. 

The night was the vampires’ domain, and the Dawnguard’s campfires didn’t provide nearly enough light to clear away the resulting confusion and chaos that arose when they struck. A shrill scream carried on the wind and Ronan made out a group of vampires converge on one of the campsites.

He saw a hound lunge and bury its teeth into the neck of a recruit. Another Dawnguard member lurched forward with their weapon, drunk if Ronan had to guess, and was quickly cut down. The fire then extinguished. There were more screams.

Serana tugged at his arm. “Watch out—” That was all the warning he got.

A black shape materialized from the darkness and sent him crashing to the ground.

Ronan landed with a groan, the hound’s claws digging into his chest. He blindly latched onto its collar, and his muscles burned as he held back its shoulders. Its jaws, with two sets of pearly whites, pressed another inch forward. The hound snarled, droplets of saliva flying into his face, as its lithe body thrashed.

Ronan gritted his teeth and quickly placed a hand on its temple. A spike of ice emerged from his palm and slid into its skull. Red smeared across his palm and a small stream of blood disappeared into the animal’s dark fur.

The hound stopped struggling against him and went limp. Even its red eyes looked duller. Ronan pushed the dead creature off and stood up.

Another hound laid dead a couple yards away, while Serana squared off with a vampire. Lances of ice and lightning sliced through the air. Ronan ran up and twisted his hands in a sharp motion. His finger shone white. He felt the energy building until a ball of light shot from his hands straight into the vampire’s face. The woman hissed and jumped back, but the light followed.

A spike of ice lodged itself in her chest cavity, and the vampire crumpled to the ground. The harmless ball of light still hovered over her face.

Serana lowered her hands. She appeared unhurt, aside from a scratch on her arm where something had torn through the fabric. “Well, this is simply taking the literal to the extreme.”

Ronan wiped the spittle off his face with a grimace. “What are you talking about?”

“I think her life might have flashed before her eyes.”

There was a long pause. Serana’s face was perfectly serious.

Ronan held in a snort. “Why am I surprised that you’re trying to joke right now?”

“Are you saying it wasn’t funny?”

“It wasn’t.”

Serana crossed the space between them until she was only a foot away. Her eyes burned in swathes of orange. “Are you sure?” 

Ronan felt a little lightheaded from the proximity. “I…”

She leaned in, close enough to feel the coldness of her breath. “Admit it.” Her lips were scant inches from his. “Say that I’m a delight.”

Almost involuntarily, he tipped forward. The ends of those red lips curled. “You’re a delig—wait. I see what you’re doing here!”

Serana laughed and moved away. His heart sunk. Even more maddening was that she read him easily and smirked. 

Just then, there was a burst of light to their far left. A vampire caught within the blast screamed. Ronan suddenly remembered himself and felt a stab of embarrassment. Serana looked similarly chastened.

The two pushed on. Serana led the way, since she had the far superior night vision. They were almost to the main campsite, when Ronan spotted a glimmer of steel in the darkness. Serana must have also spotted it, but she seemed unconcerned. They kept moving.

Soon enough, a member of the Dawnguard appeared in his field of vision, wearing the trademark steel helmet that had caught his attention. It looked quite intimidating with the eye slits completely black in the night. 

Ronan was about to call out, when the warrior charged forward with a battle cry, brandishing his axe.

Serana’s brow furrowed. “What is he…?”

Ronan quickly glanced over at Serana and understood. He jumped in front of her, raising his arms. “Stop! Stop!”

The man didn’t seem to hear them. Serana shouldered passed Ronan and met the warrior halfway. The man brought down his axe, but Serana’s hand caught his forearm midair and twisted it. He dropped the weapon with a grunt.

Ronan walked over. “Do you recognize us? We’re with the Dawnguard.”

Serana released her grip. The man cradled his arm while he peered over at them. Ronan could just make out the outline of his eyes this close. He watched as they widened.

“Yes! I’m sorry. She has eyes like the other leeches. I didn’t think.” 

Serana snorted and didn’t say anything.

Ronan pressed forward. “Have you seen Isran? Is he still at their campsite?”

“I’m not sure. I think Sorine might be there using that bow. I’ve seen a few vampires get hit by arrows and shrivel up from a blast of light. Seemed to have come from that direction.”

It was better than nothing. “Right. You’re coming with us. It’s no use running in the dark to fight them. We’ll have a better chance as a group. Come on.” 

The man picked up his axe and followed. They passed by another campsite, where Ronan was glad to see members of the Dawnguard still holding strong. The group of them had circled around the fire, and corpses of vampires were strewn across the ground.

A little farther and they finally made it to the main camp, where a fire burned steadily. Sorine was there with Auriel’s bow, as well as Isran, Gunmar, and another recruit. Isran finished cracking a vampire’s skull with his warhammer and turned to them with it raised.

He lowed the massive weapon. “It’s about time you found us.”

It was a very typical Isran response.

Sorine and Gunmar finally noticed them too. “It’s good to see you!” said the Nord. “We’ve been keeping them back, but I’m not sure how long we can do it. That bow has been a blessing.”

“Where’s Florentius? Or Durak?” asked Ronan.

“They went to recover something from one of our carriages,” said Sorine. “I have supplies there that I think could turn things in our favor.”

She glanced over at Isran. “It has been awhile though. I haven’t seen any recent flashes of Florentius’ magic.”

Isran grunted. “Then we need a new plan.”

“I haven’t seen my father around either,” Serana added. “I think he might have stayed behind at the castle.”

“More bad news. We might all die before we can reach him.” 

“Our main issue is visibility,” said Gunmar. “If no one’s near a fire, we can’t find each other or our enemy.” He spat in the dirt. “At least their damn eyes glow. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Isran turned to him. “You’re a mage. Surely you can do something. Maybe light this place up?”

Ronan hesitated. “I’m not sure. A light that size could drain me just by trying. I’ll do my best, but I doubt I can hold it long.”

Isran nodded. “We’ll make it count. Sorine, be ready to take out as many bloodsuckers as you can. The rest of us will cover close range and protect the mage here.” He looked at Serana. “And you do whatever it is your good at.”

She drew her dagger. “I’ll cut them down or impale them with ice.”

The Redguard grunted. “Fine. We’re ready when you are.” Isran said to him.

Ronan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was a simple summoning spell, he told himself, just larger and requiring far more concentration. He shook his head and took another breath.

Ronan pictured the moon. The way its radiance lit up the night sky and the surrounding landscape. Reflecting the brilliant rays of the sun.

Ronan sensed his hands lighting up, and could feel the power building in his palms, but he needed more. He tapped into that well of magic within himself and focused on making the stream come faster, more concentrated.

His palms were getting warm now, almost uncomfortably so. It was a strange feeling since he wasn’t calling forth any elemental magic like fire.

 _Magic is all about control,_ explained Tolfdir on their first day of lessons. For the most part, Ronan had always followed that rule. He had never truly tested himself like this.

The magic burned his palms –to the point of pain. His hands contorted through the air, fingers forming claws, and then, he released the energy.

Opening his eyes, he saw as a pillar of light streamed from his hands into the night sky. The beam shot across the sky for about fifteen meters, looking like a brush of white paint against a black backdrop.

The ground was illuminated, casting everything into a mixture of light and shadow. He saw stragglers of the Dawnguard gather themselves against the vampires and hounds. The light lasted for only a few seconds, maybe eight, before it reached its highest peak and fell, losing brightness as it did.

Ronan tried to make it last longer, but it was no use. His hands shook, and the insides of his body felt like it had been carved out and emptied. A headache started up in his temples.

Complete darkness wrapped back over them. Ronan closed his eyes with a sigh. His fingers spasmed, and he pressed his hands together until the uncontrollable tremors passed.

“Isran,” said Sorine. “I saw Florentius. He’s surrounded. I shot at a few of them, but it looks like he needs our help.”

Ronan cracked open his eyes. He was surprised to see more corpses sprawled around their camp. He hadn’t even heard fighting. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard much of anything while concentrating on the spell.

Gunmar sported a new gash on his thigh, but the Nord seemed as spirited as ever. Both recruits were alive.

He found Serana watching him, with maybe only a single raven hair out of place. Then he noticed she was clutching her ribs so tight that her knuckles had turned white. She saw him looking and immediately dropped her arm. Ronan frowned.

“…Going out there to help him would be suicide.”

“Right, but…”

Ronan felt the weight of their gaze.

He straightened up. “I can manage it. Just once more,” he added. Serana’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t argue. Her fingers were stained red with blood. Her blood.

They both needed to learn how to take better care of themselves.

Isran leveled his brown eyes on him. “That’s all we need. If Florentius recovered the supplies, we’ll be able to finish them off.”

One of the recruits fired their crossbow, and they all heard a pained yelp. The vampire probably wasn’t dead yet.

Ronan readied his hands. Thank the Divines for the enchantments weaved throughout his robes or he’d have nothing left to fuel this spell. “Get ready.” 

Ronan shut his eyes. The energy came slower this time. He forced it into submission, and a sharp pain started in his hands again and grew. He flexed his fingers, made the same motion, and released.

This time he didn’t bother looking. Two seconds in, and he could already feel the spell leaving his grasp. His body felt brittle and weak, but he grunted and pushed more energy into it.

The thing with magicka was that if you didn’t have the magical resources required for a spell, it had to come from somewhere, or the spell ended. 

Ronan tasted blood on his lips. His nose was bleeding. Beginning stages, or so he was told. His headache started to pound in his skull, building in tempo and intensity. He swayed on his feet, felt the world tilt, or maybe that was just the avalanche striking in his brain. 

Ronan clenched his jaw and let the spell rip away from him.

It was an instant form of relief.

Squinting, his vision blurred and came back into focus. He found himself horizontal with Serana kneeling by his side. Some of the headache abated, but not by much.

Luckily, the pain in his hands distracted him. It felt like a fire had burrowed into his skin and made a home there. Looking down, he realized he wasn’t far off from the truth. His fingertips were a dusky red, while his palms were splotched pink and looked like a layer of skin had peeled off. He groaned.

Serana muttered something under her breath. He couldn’t make it out. It was probably for the best. He realized another figure was crouched beside him.

“Arkay says you were reckless. I think that’s the polite way of calling you dumb, but I’m a bit biased.”

Florentius. So he had made it back.

The priest was tacked with mud and one of his steel pauldrons was mysteriously missing. Other than that, he appeared in full health.

Serana supported his head and pressed a flask to his lips. Ronan drank, recognizing the thick consistency and taste of a health potion. Grounded wheat gave the mixture its density.

Slowly, his headache reduced to nothing and the pain in his hands became manageable, fading more by the second. He emptied the bottle before sitting up.

“I heard you were surrounded,” Ronan rasped and cleared his throat. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

Florentius tightened a leather strap on his gauntlet. “Yes, well, I’ve told you that I once killed thirty vampires with only a broom handle and a clove of garlic.”

“You said it was with your bare hands.”

He waved a hand. “Oh, parts of it were, yes. I have a terrible mind for details, just ask Arkay.”

There was a lengthy pause. Serana and him exchanged looks.

“…Right. Did you manage to bring the supplies?”

“Yes, Sorine is quite ingenious with dwemer invention. She’s rigged their oil cannisters into explosives.” Something solemn passed through his eyes. “I don’t think the land will look the same after this, but such is the cycle.”

Ronan frowned and pushed himself to his feet. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, and he walked to the edges of their camp in a sort of stupor.

The marshland was on fire.

Everything was bathed in shades of orange. Flames licked at the tall grasses and leapt from stalk to stalk. The misty night and the bog were the only things preventing the entire landscape from going aflame. 

Ronan watched as one of the recruits launched a golden cannister through the air. A cloth had been jammed into its neck and lit on fire. The container fell into the mud, rolled a couple times and stopped, but nothing happened. The flame must have petered out.

Another identical cannister dropped nearby.

It didn’t face the same problem.

The thing exploded in a burst of fire, flinging shrapnel everywhere and illuminating the landscape for a heartbeat. There was a scream.

Ronan realized that the putrid stench in the air wasn’t just smoke. It was also burning flesh.

His stomach churned. “This is…”

Serana appeared at his side. “I know.”

They were no longer getting slaughtered, but Ronan didn’t feel any better. He pictured before him a wasteland of black, shriveled plants and buried bones. They would leave behind a wound in the earth. 

Ronan turned away from the scene. He couldn’t look anymore.

Instead he focused his attention on Serana. There was a tear in her armor, and his mind flashed back to white knuckles. “Are you alright?”

Serana looked down and shrugged. “It’s nothing serious. I had another incident with the Dawnguard. One of them stabbed me by accident.”

Ronan loudly exhaled through his nose. If he found out it wasn’t a mistake, he’d gut the person. His fists loosened, shocked by the violent impulse, but he knew it was true.

Serana’s fingers had drifted to her ribs while she was talking. “There’s nothing to worry about. I drank some blood, and it’s practically gone now.”

She hissed through her teeth and snatched her hand away. Maybe not so healed then. “It packed a mean bite.”

“Let me see.”

She smacked his arm away. “You nearly passed out a second ago.”

“I’m perfectly fine. It’s either this or you drink more blood.”

Serana looked away. “I ran out.”

That raised his concern. Serana didn’t stop him this time as he reached out and carefully pulled the torn leather apart to get a better view. The person must have really put some force behind the thrust. It had sliced through the material without any struggle. 

He let out a breath; the gash wasn’t awful. It had clotted over and sealed. If Serana had to consume all her blood, there must have been some internal damage. Ever so slightly, he ran his fingers across the wound, watching as Serana grimaced.

Dawnguard weapons were treated specifically for vampires. That must be why it still hurt.

“I’m going to try and heal it.”

She grabbed his arm. “Just don’t overextend yourself. I’ll be fine.” 

Ronan nodded and pressed a hand flush to the wound, frowning in sympathy as a cord in Serana’s neck tensed. She didn’t make a single noise though.

In theory, healing a vampire didn’t differ all that much from the living. Still mending skin and bone and repairing any lacerated muscles and organs. Vampires were once mortal, after all, but for some reason, healing them could be tricky.

He summoned his magic. A soothing white light seeped from his palms into her skin. Serana hissed but stayed still as the wound became a scab and knitted shut before his eyes. He let the spell flicker out, but his touch lingered on her warmed skin. 

Ronan cleared his throat. He needed to get a better hold of himself. “All done.”

Delicate fingers settled over his before he could move away. His breathing stuttered, and Serana stared at him with knowing eyes that gleamed.

She brushed the pad of her thumb across his skin. “Is this the part where I say you have magic fingers?” Her eyes danced. “It’s not a lie.”

Heat traveled to his face so quickly, he felt dizzy.

Ronan sputtered, watching as the mirth in those fiery eyes deepened, and felt the urge to taste that smirk, to feel the imprint of it against his mouth.

And Ronan realized he could do that now.

Serana’s eyes widened as he yanked her into a kiss. She eagerly responded, plunging her hands in his hair. He pulled her closer by the hips, the leather there heating up and sticking to his skin, and teasingly flexed his hands. She gasped against him. He nipped at her lip and felt her full body shiver.

Someone cleared their throat. The two sprung apart.

It was Isran.

Ronan worked to calm his breath, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Serana’s chest heaved. The two stayed quiet.

The Redguard’s eyebrows fell into a deep V while his upper lip curled. “This isn’t the time.”

By the smug look on Serana’s face, Ronan would guess she didn’t feel an ounce of shame. Isran noticed as well and his jaw tightened.

The two had a stare-down while his breathing levelled out. “What did you want?”

Isran crossed his arms. “I was thinking you two should head for the castle. Find Harkon. We’ve got things covered here. They’re on the backfoot.”

Serana turned toward the direction of Castle Volkihar. Her face remained hidden from view, but the tense lines of her body gave her away. Ronan wished he could do something to lighten her load.

Another thought occurred to him. “Will the explosives stop soon?” he asked. “I don’t think they’re necessary anymore. We should limit the fire.”

“If this land is razed to the ground, that’s a cost I’m willing to pay. For the safety and betterment of every mortal.”

Serana turned to them. Her features had darkened, mouth thin as a blade. Still, she said nothing. 

A similar anger unfurled in his chest. In some ways, Harkon and Isran weren’t all that different. “We’ll leave now.”

“I’ll call Sorine.”

“No,” Serana interjected sharply. “Leave her here. We need to keep that bow as far away as possible from my father.”

Isran glanced at him; Ronan nodded.

“So be it.” The Redguard turned his back to them in obvious dismissal and surveyed the burning marshland. Ronan wondered what the man felt when he looked upon it.

Florentius intercepted them as they were about to head off.

“I’d like to come along. Arkay tells me my place is with you.” He paused. “Also, if I might add, I’m in much better physical condition than either of you right now.”

“You weren’t looking so good earlier,” muttered Serana. She wasn’t very quiet. Florentius acted like he didn’t hear her.

Ronan sighed. It couldn’t hurt to have another person join them, especially one trained in restoration magic. “Fine, let’s go.” 

“Arkay said you would listen to reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots happening this chapter. A few puns, Ronan summoning a flare, the dwemer version of Molotov cocktails, and more. Hope you enjoyed!


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